


AeA: Accel excel Axel (Air Gear Triple SI feat. The Oldman & Lord Trent Blackmore)

by Xan Lazy Eldritch Writer (xanothos)



Category: Air Gear
Genre: Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2019-10-14 01:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17499398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanothos/pseuds/Xan%20Lazy%20Eldritch%20Writer





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue: Wearing Heelies to Escape Our Feelies**

_Somebody once told us some cripple was gonna roll us,_  
_We ain't the smoothest wheels on the skate._  
_He was acting kind of shitty when he tried to see some tiddy,_  
_But we weren’t fooled by his bait._  
_Well, the Roads start running and they don't stop running,_  
_Fed to the Shark and we hit the sky gunning;_  
_Didn't make sense not reach for the sky,_  
_Our feet kick the ground so we can fly! Climb up the winds, climb up the tower,_  
_We’ll burn up the sky like a meteor shower!_  
_We'll never fly if we don't run;_  
_He’ll never die if we don't G U N._  
_Hey now, we’re a shitpost, get your lame on, get dank;_  
_Hey now, we’re a memelord, get the dab on, go wank;_  
_And all our dignity is sold,_  
_Only JoJo references fight the gold..._

Trent Blackmore looked to the afternoon sky, not recognizing the metropolitan labyrinth he found himself within. The skyscrapers were tall and crowded, the skyline almost reminiscent of Toronto, which honestly made his stomach turn. He hated Toronto.

He adjusted his backpack on his shoulders as he stepped from the alley he’d ended up in after turning down a similar one in Nova Scotia. The crowds milling about were comprised of people of mostly Asiatic descent, his Aryan features making him stick out, he supposed that he should be lucky that his dark winter jacket and jeans combination weren’t out of place for the season (which he would describe as warm). Seeing no clear landmarks, he pulled out his phone to see if he could get information that way, only to find that he had no signal of any sort.

The Canadian sighed. “One Timmy’s run and it ends in _this_ horseshit.”

He scanned the area quickly, and settled for heading what looked to be a public park; maybe he could find a police officer or something who could tell him where he was…

Of course, when he actually reached the park, he found that there was a large exercising group weaving through the park on rollerblades. This drew a look of confusion from the young man as he hadn’t seen a pair of rollerblades in years, let alone an entire cavalcade of them.

Dodging around them as they rolled in his direction, he found a bench and took a seat as his bag was feeling heavier then it had upon his leaving his dorm. Unzipping it, he found an odd pair of rollerblades that he didn’t recognize along with some of his effects. Pulling out one half of the paired footwear, he held it up and examined it.

They were mostly black with white highlights, very plain, though they were a bit heavier than how he remembered rollerblades being. His eyes trailed across them, noting that the wheels looked to be almost metallic but nothing else until they caught on a certain brand emblazoned on the heel of the boot.

“Air Treks…?” he wondered aloud, and after a few moments of the term echoing around inside his head, he turned his gaze skyward once more. “Oh fuck all kinds of ducks!” he swore at the azure heavens, which didn’t seem to give much of a shit.

As crows took flight from the trees around Trent, quite possibly fearing for their chastity thanks to a distinct lack of water-fowl in the vicinity, the irate foreign devil received many curious glances from the other people in the park. One of those people, however, was also such a foreigner (and had also just woken up in a nearby bush, but that was neither here nor there). Said young man shook his head to clear the cobwebs, then extricated himself from the foliage, brushing leaves off of his jeans and picking a twig out from betwixt the buttons of his grey dress shirt.

As he rose to his feet and took a step out of the bush, his foot caught on the strap of a bag that had been concealed among the lower branches. With a loud _thump_ , the youth slammed into the ground, throwing out his arms so that his flattened forearms took the brunt of the impact, rather than his delicate, bishie bespectacled face.

The blond on the bench, startled by the pasty white boy who had just slammed into the ground, put the rollerblade back in the bag and asked, “You okay dude? Cause I’ve seen people break their wrists from shit like that.”

The brunet looked up from where he’d fallen, untangling himself from the strap of the bag and shifting to a cross-legged sitting position. Rubbing said wrists, he replied in a noticeably Southern accent, “Nah, I’m good; I got taught how to disperse my falling momentum in self-defense. Thanks for asking, though.” He looked around himself for a few moments, taking in the scenery and the few advertisements that were scattered throughout the park, before speaking again. “...This ain’t North Carolina,” he commented flatly, though there was a distinct undertone of fear in his voice. “How the _fuck_ did I end up in Japan?!”

“S’not just some place’s little Asia?” the Canadian questioned, before following the brunet’s gaze and stopping on a large billboard completely covered in kanji. “I suppose not then. One more thing to add to the pile, upside is, at least we aren’t outside the country where the Sky Regalia is…” He trailed off there and then put his face in his hands, “Goddamnit, Sora’s gonna fuckin’ send a mech army at Kyoto… Fuckin’ Sora.”

The other boy paused for a moment, having risen to his feet in the time it had taken for Trent to speak. What few drops of melanin remained in his already-pale face fled for safer harbour. “Oh my god I’ve been isekai’d into _Air Gear_ ,” he stated faintly, wobbling on his feet. “I think I need to sit down...and some fucking chocolate.”

“Well, sit down then, better to be on the ground than liable to fall over, or you could join me on this lovely bench. Also, you’re not the only one who got isekai’d into this shitshow, so, misery and company,” the blond offered as he scooched down the bench.

The bespectacled brunet grabbed the bag that had almost been his bane, flopped down beside him, then pulled off his glasses and pinched his forehead as he breathed through his nose. “Well, that’s something,” he replied halfheartedly. “Name’s Johan,” he offered a moment later. “You?”

“‘M Trent, Trent Blackmore,” the Canadian replied as he considered the Air Treks in his bag. They were basically just super-rollerblades that let people fly. He pulled the one he’d just been looking at back out of his bag and brandished it at the brunet. “Upside, at least I don’t have to shell out for these expensive things.”

“...Trent Blackmore? Does the title ‘A Very Mean Albino’ mean anything to you?” Johan asked, a faint glint of hope visible in the blue behind his glasses.

The blond blinked at the mention and turned to look at the other man, and after a moment asked, “Johan… Xan, is that you? Because if so, I’m _really_ glad I’m not alone in this shitshow.”

Johan laughed. It was a hollow sound, devoid of mirth. “Yep, that’s me. Though I guess I’m a prisoner of a Nightmare rather than the Author of it. Shame Baka’s not here; a man who killed two bears in our world is probably baseline Captain Canada in this world.”

“It’d be a trip, that’s for sure – but well, instead you have me, so I guess you’re just going to have to deal,” Trent shot back as he balanced the AT in his hand. He studied it once again, noting that it was the correct size for his foot as well as weighing it idly. “Of course, we technically have to deal with worse than bears. Also, figure out how close we are to the inevitable clusterfuck.”

Johan chuckled awkwardly, waving his hands. “I didn’t mean to insinuate I’d rather have Baka over you; just the opposite! I’m about about as useful as tits on a bull, what with the whole ‘fear of heights and speed’ deal.”

“We can work on it… wanna try these things out?” the blond inquired with a nod to the rollerblade.

Johan considered the bag on his lap. “Fuck it. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Trent chuckled grimly as he shucked off his boots, exposing the onomatopoeia-laden socks he was wearing as he pulled out his orthotics and replaced the ATs’ insoles with them. Forcing his feet into the rollerblades, he quickly tied the laces and forced himself upright, gripping his bag in one hand. He took a few strides around the area, gathering some speed, a confident smile worming its way onto his face. The Canadian laughed and declared, “This isn’t too hard at all!”

“...Don’t they have, like, Sakuradite engines or some shit in them?” Johan asked, examining his own pair (which were much like Trent’s, except where his had white trim, Johan’s had crimson) and brushing a thumb over a switch.

The Canuck blinked and then nervously looked down at his footwear, noticing a small switch on their interior sides. He looked to his comrade and declared, “If I die, tell everyone ‘Hello.’”

With that, he switched the engines on. And went nowhere.

After a moment, he remembered, “Right, they need either weight or someone to move on them to get them going.” He leaned forward, and his feet immediately shot forward with very little regard to the rest of him, wrecking his balance and toppling him onto his back within the first couple of metres. Glaring at the sky, he grumbled, “Fuck.”

Johan walked over to the other man and offered him a hand up. Taking the hand, Trent pulled himself to his feet and remarked, “Forgot about the acceleration. So, that’s on me.”

Johan shrugged. “Not everyone can be ‘the Strongest Babyface’ or ‘Mr. No Mercy For Wheelchairs’ on their first time, I’m sure. Meh, I’m sure I’ll fuck up much worse than you.” With those nigh-prophetic words, the brunet put on the instruments of his demise Air Treks, turned on the motors, and put the _slightest_ bit of pressure on each…only to have one shoot forward and the other back, pulling Johan into a split that ordinarily he’d have needed five minutes of stretching to achieve.

“Jesus Christ…” Trent gasped at the sight before him.

The noise that escaped Johan’s mouth was akin to that of a dying cat being used to deflate a balloon through blunt force trauma.  
  
Before the two foreigners could react any further, they heard a shrill scream off in the distance, which drew not only their attention, but that of everyone else in the park. In the direction of the voice, they saw something speeding towards them at an incredible speed. Dirt and grass was lifted into the air at its advance. As it got closer and closer, they could see that it was a person wearing glasses.

He, which was about all they could really tell about the figure at the speed they were going, was barely managing to keep his balance as he swung his arms wildly and rocked his torso back and forth. Even so, he wasn’t anywhere near _stopping_ – and the stranger was on a collision course with Johan to boot. Realizing what was about to happen, the stranger tried to jerk himself out of the way, but in his struggle he instead managed to spread his feet apart sideways.

The Canadian watched the trainwreck unfolding before his eyes, horror taking hold of his stomach – and his face too, as it contorted into a rictus of sympathetic pain to match the stranger’s when the man’s crotch impacted against Johan's face. Johan, already fucking dead from the involuntary split he’d undergone, experienced a level of suffering as of yet undiscovered by humans as he received a faceful of ballsack. The duo were only shielded from The Big Gay by a thin layer of denim.

No noise escaped the three of them, all of them stuck in a picture perfect moment of tragedy.

It was at that moment that the third person screamed to the heavens, his voice reaching deafening heights and sending vibrations across his entire frame from his throat.

Looking at the tangle, Trent quietly asked, “…You guys want a hand?”

* * *

The Canadian looked between the other two men, both of whom were resting on the bench that he and Johan had sat on for their initial pow-wow.

“You guys…doing a bit better?”

"I'm sure my descendants up to the seventh generation will still feel that," the newcomer groaned, a hand still holding onto his beaten meat.

“If you still have the ability to _have_ any,” Johan quipped through a grimace.

"Totally fair, man. Totally fair,” he replied instantly, letting out a heavy breath.

“Sooo...you’re not from around here, either,” Johan observed bluntly, glancing at the bespectacled stranger’s features. The man was taller than the average Japanese, so that was already a point that made him stick out. There was also his heavy wool jacket and black t-shirt with a print of a green and orange jaguar to consider, all of which was covered in dirt and grass like the rest of him including a bit of his medium-length black hair.

"...Yeah, sure, let's go with that," he grunted while scratching at his chin, which had a bit of a stubble. "I'm new to this city."

“Yeah, we are too. The name’s Johan Lewis.” He raised an eyebrow at Trent, prompting the Canuk to stop standing off to one side like a post and introduce himself, dammit!

The Canadian kept from leaning too far in any directions on his Air Treks and chimed in, “I’m Trent Blackmore, and honestly surprised I wasn’t the one who got pulled into that car wreck, given my luck.”

The other man stared at the two displaced men, his expression turning to shock for a second before he spoke up. "Ok, this might come a bit out left field, but tell me what you think of the following sentence," he said while rising a finger. "'Old men are best men.'"

Johan perked up. “I’d say that it's pretty fucking _subarashii_.”

“I mean, if that’s what you’re into on your side of the wall,” Trent joked, trying to lighten the situation with some humour.

"No fuckin' way..." he exclaimed with genuine joy in his face. "Is it really you guys? Xan? Trent?"

“No, I’m just a pile of snow shaped into Trent’s Aryan perfection that he’s voicing from miles away,” the blond snarked as he lightly shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“I _knew_ that the power of your Stand, **「** Snowblind **」** , wasn’t truly cocaine generation!” Johan snarked. “You’ve lied to me for the last time, you wretched snow-Mexican!”

The shit-eating grin rather ruined any potential seriousness of the statement.

Trent simply threw back his head and cackled, “Your first mistake was assuming you knew what my Stand was! Ladies, gentlemen, **「** BREAKBOT **」**! We gottem.”

"Oh my god, it _is_ you. Holy shit." The man let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I'm glad to know I'm not in this alone."

The blond shrugged, “I mean, I’d make a joke about all of us being in this together, but I hated the High School Musicals.”

Johan shot the aforementioned _Goddamned Monster_ a gimlet eye. “Trent, kindly commit not feeling so good. Thank you.”

The third man just chuckled at the two's byplay and shook his head.

Trent looked to their third and said, “Well, you know our names, what about you Oldman?”

“Yeah, _jii-chan_ . Tell us your name!” Johan interjected, grinning like a loon. “Or do you want to break my delicate little _kokoro_?”

"Not going with, _brokoro your kokoro_...I am disappoint, son,” Oldman replied with a chuckle.

“Meanwhile, you two playing the weeb card is giving me cancer, so can we get on with it?” the Canadian asked in exasperation.

"Yeah, that's enough meming to fuel me for a little while,” Oldman agreed. “Name's Alphonse Crane, by the way."

Johan’s grin increased in girth as he stated, “I’m gonna call you Dickabod Crane.”

"Oh shit, that's a good one," Crane commented while shaking a limp hand from the wrist as if he'd burned himself. "So...how long you been here?"

“Like, fifteen minutes,” Trent replied honestly.

“Same for me,” Johan added.

"I'm no good with time, but I think that sounds about right," Alphonse mused. "Went to buy a Steam card and some cup noodles at my local OXXO...when I stepped out, I saw a completely different street and when I turned around, I saw a Lawson."

The Canuck hummed. “Well, I was on a quick Tim Horton’s run and turned down an alley for a short cut, ended up walking out into the street over there.” He nodded towards the way he had come.

“Meanwhile, I was taking a nap on the couch because migraines are a bitch,” Johan added, “and then I woke up in a bush and fell over my bag.”

“Well, we’re all here, and in one piece, so that’s an upside. The downside is that we’ve gotta learn how to actually _ride_ these things,” Trent opined, consciously keeping from shifting his weight despite his desire to drop into a squat. “Because I don’t know about you guys, but at the very least, I want to be able to do something when Sora decides to enact his terrorism plans.”

"Oh...fuck, right." Alphonse paled at the canuck's words. "That motherfucker takes rollerskating _way too fucking seriously._ "

The blond shrugged, “Well, I’m pretty sure it was because he and his brother were the weakest Gravity Children and he wanted to stand above everyone else as a result… But yeah, fucker kills way too many people.”

"A fucking inferiority complex is no reason to literally burn a city, brainwash people, treat others like literal parts of his wheelies and attempt to sacrifice his preggo girlfriend to hype himself up!" Crane all but screamed in response. "What the fuck!?"

Johan gritted his teeth and nodded. “Yeah,” he replied hoarsely, “that fucker needs to be _stopped_.”

“Now, I never tried to excuse it, just explain his start down the slope. And wow, putting it like that, fuckboy just did a fucking swan dive off the slippery slope…” Trent murmured, thinking on it some. “Also, we need to fucking have a word with Kilik about how shitty he is at killing people.”

"God, Sleeping Forest..." Alphonse muttered. "Well, he sure as shit isn't going to listen to a bunch of nobodies. Not like we can even get inside the tower..."

Trent offered another shrug, “Well, it’s a clusterfuck anyway. We need info on pretty much everything, to see if Ikki’s even formed Kogarasumaru or if Sora’s going to launch his attack on Kansai tomorrow. Christ, we’ve just got a heap of problems, don’t we?”

"Shit, where do we even _sleep,_ guys?" Alphonse questioned.

The Canadian piped up, “Well, I’m sure that Behemoth wouldn’t mind us slumming it in Under-Colosseo, place’s a sty anyway.”

“As much as living like a hobo doesn’t particularly appeal to me, I don’t see many other choices, unfortunately,” Johan agreed with a sigh. “Unless our bags magically have fat stacks of yen, of course?”

"Can we...like, consider a few more options before choosing to go to the literal stripclub-slash-thunderdome? I'm really not super hyped about the idea." Alphonse winced at the suggestion. "'Sides, we don't even know where the place is."

Johan shrugged. “I mean, we could always pull an Akiyama and go slum it in the Millenium Tower Hobo Palace, assuming we can find it.”

At that moment, a hyena-like laugh cut through the air, causing the three of them to whirl around and catch sight of a manhole rising out of its place in the ground. As it shifted aside, a man wearing only a snakeskin jacket over over his bare chest rose from within, his hair cut high on the sides and falling wildly. He wore a snake emblazoned eyepatch over one eye, while the uncovered one seemed to have a crazed glint in it, he had a very light dusting of facial hair, but a wide grin. His gloved hands braced themselves on the ground as he catapulted himself out of the manhole, landing stylishly in the park proper, his leather pants gleaming in the sunlight.

Looking between the trio, the man remarked, “Ya know, I was just doing as I do, investigatin’ certain things, gettin’ dirt and whatnot, when I heard someone mention Millenium Tower. S’been a while, since I heard that name, y’know?”

Johan blinked once, twice, thrice. “I’m not sure how I feel about this,” he muttered, stupefied by the man–no, the _legend_ , in front of them.

"Ditto," Alphonse quipped, equally dumbfounded and more than a little on edge.

Trent stared at the man before them, noting the tattoos peeking out from his coat’s lapels, marking him quite clearly as the authentic article. He couldn’t help but mutter, “How powerful _is_ the Majima Everywhere System?”

“So, you gents know about Kamurocho then. Good,” the eyepatched man declared as he sauntered towards them. “I heard you boys were in need a funds, and well, I heard a lil bit of what you mentioned ‘fore that. I think we might be able to make a deal, whaddaya say?”

One couldn’t really call it a deal with the devil; all in all, it was more like offering their hands to a rabid dog, seeing as the man before them couldn’t be anything else. After all…

This was the man who had torn his way through entire buildings full of Yakuza, armed with only a knife, all for the sake of a single woman and what he decided to stand for. He fought and killed an infamous and widely feared assassin at the end of that gauntlet, establishing his reputation in the Yakuza world. He went on to reinforce that image over the course of almost two decades, his ferocity and unhinged actions making him feared while his loyalty earned him praise. A master of many fighting styles and weapons, a consummate professional and entrepreneur, and far more intelligent than he appeared at first blush.

He was quite clearly the Mad Dog of Shimano, Goro Majima.


	2. You Thought It Would Be Chapter One, But It Was Me, Exposition!

**Prologue 2: You Thought It Would Be Chapter One, But It Was Me, Exposition!**

While the three men were very uncomfortable with the idea, Majima ushered them down into the manhole he’d sprung from, waving his hands and scowling when it looked like they’d stop and ignoring any complaints from the trio. The sewers were surprisingly spacious, with wide walkways on either side of the rivers of waste water surging through them. The railings were clearly marked with luminescent tape, and there were a more than a few grunts milling about as if guarding the area.

The trio trailed after Majima as he led them deeper into his underground abode, Johan and Alphonse having no real trouble as they’d taken off their ATs while Trent had more than a little trouble due to keeping his on. The Mad Dog eventually led them to what looked to be a refurbished utility room, taking a seat behind the desk that clearly was brought in by him and his men. The foreigners glanced at one another, then made themselves comfortable in the folding chairs he had provided for them to use as his gaze shifted over each of them in turn.

Clapping his hands as he saw them all seated, the eyepatched man spoke, “Now, what say we get down to brass tack then, eh boys? Y’all tell me how ya know about Kamurocho and what all’s happening around here, and I help you lads with funds and papers and such.”

" _Hoo fuckin boy_ , where do we even _begin?_ " Crane muttered under his breath, quite unsure of the answer. He glanced at the other two, pleading with his eyes to not be the first one to start explaining.

“Not it,” Johan deadpanned, consigning the Canadian to the underside of the proverbial bus without hesitation.

Blackmore, ever tactful, sighed and began, “Well, we know Kamurocho, because there’s a Kamurocho where we come from, though likely rather different from the one you’re familiar with.” He leaned back in his seat, taking immense care as he crossed his legs. “As for what’s happening he—”

“Now wait up kid, I wanna know more. How do you guys know Kamurocho, if there ain’t one in this world?” the Yakuza asked, eye narrowed in suspicion.

The Canadian swallowed a grumble before answering, “Well, much like you Mister Majima, we’re not quite from around… Here, as it were.”

“Trent, for god’s sake, stop dancing around the point,” Johan interjected. “It ain’t that hard to say ‘we’re not from this version of Earth’. See? I just did it.”

“Fuck you, pay me. And besides, saying it makes it feel more real. I really want to go home, so excuse me for wanting a little bit of denial. Is that so wrong?” the Snow Mexican growled, feeling more than a little put out by the exchange. Johan flinched, but didn’t have a chance to reply.

Majima meanwhile, nodded. “Ah, I getcha, you lot’re like me then. Ended up here for no reason, and tryin ta figure things out. Well, I’ve been here a while, seen those ATs you got on your feet there around. But you kids seem ta have some idea of where things’re headin’. Why not share with the class?”

Crane took a deep breath to try and calm himself. He didn't want to say things out loud too, but airing things was something that needed to be done.

"Put bluntly, to shit," he began, the second the words left his mouth he had no choice but to keep going. "Some bastard called Sora is going to give everyone a horrible time. He's going to get help from the American military to try and get something called the Sky Regalia, and in doing so, he starts the mother of all gang wars, kills people, brainwashes others, including his pregnant girlfriend who he later tries to kill just so he 'has nothing to hold him back', and literally burns Kyoto to the ground."

He couldn't believe he just said all of that in one go, but he did it. Go him.

“ _Fuck_ that guy,” Johan muttered through gritted teeth.

Trent looked between the others before looking to Majima, and shrugged, “Basically, the only things he _won’t_ have done by the end are genocide and cannibalism… and he was winding up to do the former by the time he’s stopped.” With a decisive nod of his head, he declared, “As Johan said: fuck that guy.”

“And I’m sure the bastard would eat somebody if he thought it would mean more power or would get him closer to his dumbass goal, which is nothing more than to stand atop everything and everyone,” Johan added with no small amount of venom in his voice.

“Sounds like a pretty shitty guy,” Majima, master of understatement, remarked while nodding his head up and down. He considered all of the information and then asked, “All of Kyoto? Really?”

“With mechs, even,” the Canadian confirmed.

The Yakuza winked, “Really, mechs? Tha’s pretty rad.”

Nodding, the canuck continued, “Agreed, but, as we said, he’s kind of an issue. Also, there’s his murderous twin brother who tears people apart and basically laughs about it. Said twin brother is also creepily obsessed with a girl and nearly rapes her.”

“A real pair a’ dirtbags then,” the cyclops agreed, not looking too put out, mostly just intrigued.

Trent then sighed. “And then of course, there’s our technical allies in our goal of stopping Sora, the Sleeping Forest, except, they could have stopped all of this years ago. Their leader’s an incompetent when it comes to killing people, as he could have killed Sora but he didn’t!” The Canadian was nearly shouting and continued to ramp up. “And let’s not forget their pet psychopath, who likes to take off people’s faces and wear them as a shirt! But not kill them! Nope, gotta leave them alive!”

The yakuza looked to the other two men and asked, “He serious?”

" _He fucking is_ ," they replied in tandem. By this point Alphonse was hunched over on his chair, stewing in a mix of rage, fear and annoyance. Meanwhile, Johan had taken the opposite option, slumping back with a hand massaging the bridge of his nose.

Letting out a whistle, Majima leaned back in his chair, “I can dig why you kids want ta get rid a this Sora guy. Any reason why you’re plannin’ on workin’ with these Forest guys?”

“Less working with them, and more the fact that we’re both aiming for the same goal. Gotta take every factor into account, y’know?” Trent replied, having taken a moment to come down from the high of anger he achieved over Sleeping Forest’s incompetence.

The cyclops hummed, “Makes sense, I guess.”

Trent offered another shrug before moving into the next subject. “After all of them, would be…Kogarasumaru. They’re essentially the catalyst for everything moving into motion, as Sora uses them as a smokescreen in order to move undetected for the longest time. They’re essentially a group of kids, who just want to use ATs to fly.”

“And yet, despite them being a bunch of normal kids, their leader’s dreams, his _wings_ , are so great that he challenges Sora himself...and is victorious.” Johan gave a faint smile. “Ikki’s a huge dork, but he pulls through when it counts.” 

The Canadian then chimed in, “There’s also the fact that Sora, a number of his followers, as well as most of Sleeping Forest, are a bunch of super powered science experiments that were basically designed to ride ATs.”

"Ah shit, that entire thing about the Gravity Children and the Sky Regalia..." Alphonse muttered under his breath and after a couple seconds looked over at the other two foreigners. Seeing how they didn't say anything, he sighed. "Fuckin'...ok, I'm going to skim over this since I actually didn't get it but anyways… The members of Sleeping Forest, Sora and his twin are all part of this huge secret experiment to do...stuff in zero gravity? Whatever, point is they're test-tube babies who got raised to do weird shit we normal humans can't. The entire project was called the Gravity Children project and thanks to it, we have ATs and AT based technology in this world."

Taking a deep breath, he continued.

"Now, the Sky Regalia. It's a pair of wheelies that can let the user control other AT and AT tech. I think the entire point of spreading AT tech was just so some jackass could control the world using them, I dunno. It's some stupid reason and it doesn't matter!" Crane ranted on, his voice getting more heated as he spoke. "At some point though, shit went wrong, the facility where the Gravity Children were kept went down while they escaped, the Sky Regalia was abandoned _waaaaaaaaaay_ down in the ruins of the facility, and everything was fine...until it wasn't because Sora decided to be a cunt and leak the info about the existence of the Sky Regalia to the _entire world_ , starting this _goddamn mess_ in the first place!"

By the end of his tirade, Alphonse was seething and slammed a hand into his knee. This entire situation was stupid as hell, started over stupid shit and would continue and ruin or end several lives for a stupid reason. It was all too much: his morals couldn't abide by or tolerate any of that fuckery.

Majima, decidedly rather disgruntled by this, looked between the three of them and inquired, “So, how is it that all’a ya know this?”

Johan decided to field this question, as his two associates were both coming down from rant-induced adrenaline rushes. “Well Mr. Majima, the answer to that is a bit crazy, but so is suddenly finding yourself in another world. Simply put, we read about it in a manga.”

The yak thought on this before motioning for Johan to continue, rolling his hand at the wrist.

Johan swallowed, then continued. “In our world, there’s a manga called Air Gear. It details the rise of one Itsuki Minami from a middle school punk to the King of the Storm Road, vanquisher of that fuckboy Sora. There’s a _lot_ that happens, but Alf and Trent covered the main points.”

“He didn’t kill Sora, just beat him,” the only blond amongst them asserted, feeling the need to get pedantic about this. “Honestly, that was a terrible idea. Ikki should have let the fuckbucket fall out of space and die.”

“Riiiiight,” Majima intoned, looking between them again as if they were crazy. “A manga. Okay, say I believe you, I’ve seen some weird shit before so I ain’t about to discount this, but what’ll I get outta helpin’ you kids?”

“Well, apparently if you get good enough at them, ATs give you superpowers,” Johan mentioned. “Like, there’s this kid named Agito who can shoot wind blades from his skates. Granted, he’s a Gravity Child’s kid so he can do those barefoot, but the leader of this one team called Behemoth can do it too, and he’s pretty normal other than weird muscle structure.”

The cyclops’s eye widened, “So yer sayin those Behemoth brats that I’ve been fightin for territory down here can do that shit? Fuck, I shoulda got me some of those skates ages ago.”

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Alphonse looked at Majima in fearful awe as the implications of what he said began to hit him.

“Of course he’s been fighting them,” Johan muttered, massaging his forehead, “Why would he do anything else?”

The blond laughed, almost hysterically. “This is fucking perfect! This is so fucking perfect! To think, you’re actually fucking fighting them!” Taking a moment to calm himself and catch his breath, the Canadian put a hand on his chest. “So, how well has the good fight been going?”

“Eh, been at a stalemate for a while. They surprised me when they first broke out their rollerskates, but I got used to them well enough,” the yakuza admitted, nodding to himself assuredly.

"Ok boss, there's just one thing I _really gotta ask,_ " Alphonse raised his voice and tried his best to look at Majima in the eye. "Why are you even fighting them? What's the reason?"

The cyclops scowled at the actual Mexican as he grunted, “Who the hell are you callin’ boss? I ain’tcher boss. As fer why I’m at war with the brats… It’s fer territory! I’ve been tryin’ to take complete control of the underground areas of the city for my group since I got established, and those brats keep gettin’ in my way!”

Crane flinched at the first part of the statement. "I guess you just have a very boss-like aura sir, I'm sorry about that, my tongue slipped," he answered immediately without thinking.

“S’fine, just remember, _you_ aren’t one a my boys, so you _don’t_ call me ‘boss.’ Got it?” The Mad Dog warned the younger man, pointing at him as he eyed him from behind his desk.

"Yes, got it," the Mexican replied, lowering his gaze. _'Jesus H. It's not easy to deal with Majima.'_

Majima nodded at the affirmation before looking at the three foreigners, and smiling as he declared, “So, you kids need papers and money then?”

Trent shared a look with Johan and Alphonse, and the three of them answered simultaneously, “Yes. Very yes.”

-x-x-x-

The three disgruntled men hoisted themselves out of the manhole they’d initially climbed down, Trent still fumbling on his ATs as he tried to get used to them in the most casual of ways. They smelled like sewers, but they were happy enough, as the criminal they’d become acquainted with had supplied them with money and papers.

While they’d been rather baffled by the readiness the man had shown with both the money and the forgeries, they weren’t really in any place to question it nor would it be polite. After all, the cyclops seemingly had done this simply in exchange for the information they’d provided him.

As they slowly moved through the park, Trent slowly trundling along as he started to get used to his ATs. The sun was still rather high in the sky, and after looking up at it, the Canadian remarked, “We need to find a place to stay, don’t we?”

"I'm drawing a blank here. I'm still kind of out of it right now, you guys think of it," Alphonse answered in English to confuse any eavesdroppers. "I still can't believe we made a deal with a criminal warlord."

Johan shrugged helplessly. “It’s not like we actually had a lot of options, and as far as crime bosses go, we could do _far_ worse. Majima’s got principles, at least.”

"I mean, that's true, but it doesn't change the fact that we made a deal with Goro _Fucking_ Majima," Crane continued as he grimaced. "This is just going to bite us in the ass later, isn't it?"

“Nah, s’fine,” Blackmore replied as he adjusted his bag on his back and leaned back a bit on his heels to slow a bit. “We make every dirty deal we have to in order to survive, thrive, and then get home.”

“Even a deal with Sora?” Johan interjected sceptically.

Trent snorted. “Only if the deal is that he takes a long walk off a short pier. But seriously, you guys get my drift with what I said, yeah?”

“I’m pickin’ up what you’re layin’ down,” Johan affirmed.

"I mean...I get that we need to this but it still makes me feel like we're going to regret it later," the Mexican replied unenthusiastically. "That being said, I'm honestly not sure where we should even stay. You guys have any ideas?"

Trent hummed in thought, and then a metaphorical light bulb went off in his head. With a chuckle and a grin, he declared, “Well, Rika and, by extension, the Noyamanos, run a boarding house of sorts. A Maison Ikkoku sort of deal, y’know? Howsabout that?”

“...The fuck is ‘Maison Ikkoku? Is that some Canadian code for a love hotel?” Johan asked

Alphonse chuckled at the American's joke before interjecting.  "I mean, judging by the context I think I get what you're saying, but what's that a reference to?"

“S’an old mango and animu by the woman who did Ranma and Inuyasha, but to clarify, um…think the sort of boarding house the characters in Sekirei were based out of,” the canuck explained, exasperated at the children around him not appreciating the classics.

"...Ok, I know that manga is a thing, but I can't fuckin' remember for the life of me what it was called or what it even was about," Alphonse replied with a shrug before addressing the important part of the conversation. "That doesn't seem like a bad idea, to be honest. It could also help us find out just… _when_ we ended up in."

The Mexican scratched at his stubble thoughtfully. "Behemoth is still a thing, so we have some time before Sora gets up to his shit, but how much do we really have?"

“Mm, a while at least, but until we have a solid timeline, we shouldn’t count our chickens…” Trent answered, trying not to dwell on the subject overly much. He knew they had some time, no idea as to how much, but he was going to use as much as he could to prepare. “‘Sides, all we can really do is prepare.”

With that, the three sauntered into the afternoon, driving off the crowds with the pungent stench of the sewers stuck to their clothes.


	3. Did You Honestly Think For A Second That We Were Done With The Setup?

**Prologue 3:** **Did you honestly think for a second that we were done with the setup?**

After a short time spent in contemplation, the trio decided that meeting with their landlords as they were was a godawful idea, and that a quick trip through the city for clothes and a bathhouse visit was in order.  _ That _ ended up being really awkward, due to both having to share the room just after meeting the others physically and because they were surrounded by a bunch of Tokyo grandpas in what amounted to a steam room.

A steam room that ended up being rather rank and noxious due to the sewer stank that had been rolling off them.

Yeah, the room full of old Japanese men giving them veiled looks of disdain had discouraged them from taking their time with the experience..

Trent had settled for washing quickly, doing the best he could to scrub himself thoroughly of the smell prior to a quick dip in one of the larger tubs and then beating a retreat from the noxious steam trap.

Johan, on the other hand, opted to endure the judgmental stares and malodorous stench so that he could scrub every last trace of the sewer from his body.  _ God _ did he hate feeling dirty.

Alphonse wasn't so much bothered by the smell as he was by the gazes that seemed to bore into the back of his head, but he decided to pay them as little mind as he could and took his time to soak in the warm waters of the bath and relax his tense muscles.

The Canadian who had retreated earlier took his time dressing in his new clothes and removing the tags, and ended up sitting out near the front and sipping at some coffee they sold at the bathhouse. Soon enough, Johan and Alphonse joined him, the former picking up a can of green tea and the latter a bottle of water from a nearby vending machine.

Heaving himself to his feet, Trent looked at the other two and then slugged back the last of his coffee. Having done so, he tossed the paper cup away and declared, “Well lads, shall we mosey?”

Alphonse laughed and shook his head. "I dunno Cloud, can we count on you to handle the entire conversation with Rika for us?"

“Do I have to, NPC number one?” the blond shot back at the Mexican, eyebrow raised. 

Said Mexican just laughed harder before saying "Welcome to Corneria!" between chuckles.

If you’d been looking at the world through the lens of an anime at the time, you would most likely have been able to  _ see _ the question marks hovering over Johan’s head, not having been knocked off when the joke had flown over it. As it was, in reality they were just  _ heavily implied. _

Trent, unimpressed with Al’s joke, kicked him in the shin, declaring, “Square up, shitlord.”

Crane raised his hands placatingly as his giggling died down, "Alright, alright. Although I'm fairly sure I'll drop aaaall of the spaghetti when we talk with her; I'm no good for this kind of stuff but I'll try. Just don't leave me to die alone with her in a suplex when I fuck up."

“Am I the only one of us with any ability to navigate social interactions?” the blond murmured before looking to the other two, not feeling very confident.

Johan yawned dramatically. “I could, but it’s such a  _ hassle _ . I’m not exactly the type to shmooze, you feel me?” He shrugged. “But if you really don’t want to, I can do it. Or we can take turns.”

“The latter sounds like the right idea to me, but then again, I’m also a lazy shit,” the snow Mexican opined.

"Oh fuckin' a', we're all slackers," Alphonse commented wryly. "That's going to be a problem."

Trent chuckled. “Well, I  _ enjoy _ working out, and as a certified coach-slash-instructor for numerous sports, I gain a great deal of satisfaction in seeing others workout. Or rather, in making other people work hard.”

Johan shot the Canadian a Look. “You enjoy working out? Go explode, normie.”

“Pay me,” came the easy reply, one that Johan really should have seen coming.

"Aw fuck, right. I almost forgot for a second that this is physical exercise between all the crazy esper shit everyone pulls," the Mexican whined before looking at his thighs and slapping them lightly. "Hope you guys are ready to get torn to shit for the sake of being allies of justice."

Johan winced. “Yeah...conditioning’s gonna be a bitch, isn’t it?”

Trent, thoroughly amused by his friends’ whining, cackled. Alphonse began to feel dread pooling in his stomach and feared for the chastity of his legs.

The three walked into the afternoon, heading in the direction of the Noyamanos’, Trent feeling vindicated in his healthy lifestyle, Johan resigned to his wretched fate, and the South-South-Canadian moving along with them with all the dignity and grace that one could expect of a man who had just been told he was now a death row prisoner.

After having picked up a map and consulted a phonebook, the trio had tracked down and trekked to the boarding house the Noyamano family ran, luckily arriving not too late in the afternoon. Taking a moment to brace himself, Trent reached out and with an almost delicate poke, hit the doorbell. For a few moments, they heard nothing, until there was a faint sound of a woman shouting followed by a choked scream and something heavy hitting the door before them. The door buckled and collapsed, falling out of the way as a teenage boy crashed through it and slammed into the Canadian, knocking him prone with the teen atop him.

Johan blinked at the sight, then looked down at the boy who would save the world one day. “You alive, kid?”

“Yeah, I’m good, would been better if some  _ GORILLA _ hadn’t just thrown me, kinda surprised that I’m not out cold given the distance,” the teen remarked hotly, firing off a middle finger at the blonde woman stomping down the corner towards him.

The moment the word ‘gorilla’ came out of the downed boy’s mouth, Johan and Alphonse wisely took a large step away from him, so as to keep out of the splash zone. It was only after they’d moved that they noticed that they’d left their northern compeer behind, trapped beneath Itsuki Minami’s prone body.

“Who’s a gorilla?” the blonde woman roared as she grabbed the teen by his legs and stomped down on his chest, earning a pained grunt from the teen and a second one from the man beneath him. “Stealing my meat? I’ll give you the thrashing of a lifetime!”

“I’ll arrange for ‘Despacito’ to be played at your funeral, Trent,” Johan remarked while bowing his head in mourning for his soon-to-be-lost brother in arms. Alphonse simply stood at attention and gave a salute as his eyes began to tear up, doing his best to hold back the feeling of crushing grief invading his chest.

Groaning from beneath the teen, the Canadian grumbled, “I’m going to make your lives hell, you fucking children. Help me out here, Christ on a goddamn cracker.”

Johan sighed. “ _ Fiiiine _ , you big baby. And  _ we’re _ the children.” He raised his eyes to the strawberry blonde who was currently standing atop Ikki and Trent like some sort of conquering hero, and cleared his throat. “Miss? I’m not trying to interrupt your... _ disciplining _ , but you kiiinda got our friend in the crossfire. Kiddo fell on him when he came through the door.”

The woman’s eyes darted from the kid she was stomping on, to the American, and then down to the man trapped beneath the target of her fury. She offered him an apologetic smile as she hoisted the boy off him, muttering, “Sorry about that.”

And then slammed the kid back first onto the ground beside the Canadian, earning a sharp yelp from the kid in question. Trent just murmured, “Thanks fam.”

“So, if we’re trying to board here do we talk to you or…?” Johan trailed off, slightly apprehensive at distracting the woman from her therapeutic beatdown but acknowledging their need for shelter.

Though Alphonse was absolutely  _ fascinated  _ at the many different ways the woman was brutalizing the child, Johan's words managed to snap him out of his trance and decide that maybe he should  _ actually do something. _

The Mexican coughed loudly trying to get their attention, and when that failed he decided to look to the skies speak out loud. "Hey, yo! Some clients over here! Could you please help us out here, pretty please!?"

Johan sideyed Alphonse for a moment, then his arm came up and slapped the Mexican upside the head just hard enough to get his attention. “Oi, let me do the talking,” Johan said out of one side of his mouth. “With Trent bodied, diplomacy falls to me. No offense, but you’ve got a  _ bit _ of a temper at times.”

The man in question was very much pissed at the sudden introduction to Johan's hand but saw his point and took a step back while pushing Johan forward. "Fine, you go." 

Mikan, decidedly unimpressed with the Mexican’s antics, shot him a stink eye before calling into the building, “Hey, Rika-nee, in case you somehow  _ didn’t _ hear, we got a couple of people who want to talk about boarding with us. Also an asshole, but I think they might be a package deal!”

“Nah, he dug his grave…” Trent remarked weakly from the ground, seeing no need to pull Alphonse from the hole he’d dug. For his part, the Mexican’t just decided to close his eyes and breathed in, deciding not to comment and just deal with it.

Johan, on the other hand, gave Mikan a weary smile and said, “Please, forgive him. We’ve had a...well, calling today  _ long _ wouldn’t begin to cover it. I think all three of us are dealing with it in our own ways, and his came out like that.” He glanced at Trent. “You need a hand there, slugger?”

“Nah, I might go thug on your face at this point, especially if you decided to prank me or something…” the Canadian groaned as pushed himself up and to his feet. With a grunt, he stretched and rubbed his stomach as that had taken the brunt of the damage, and offered, “You got a hell of a kick Miss, I’ll tell you that for free.”

Ikki, poor, foolish Ikki, interjected, “Why the hell do you think I call her a gorilla?”

This comment earned him a dropkick to the face, as Mikan abandoned all pretenses of friendliness and attacked him. As the two descended into a brawl, a redheaded woman walked into the view of the door and let out an explosive sigh. She approached the trio waiting awkwardly beside the brawl and offered them a somewhat strained smile as she asked, “So, I heard you gentlemen needed to talk to someone about boarding here?”

“Yeah, we’re… new in the city and need somewhere to stay for the foreseeable future. When we did some poking around, we heard about your place,” Trent began, trying to break the ice as smoothly as he could manage. “Would you have three rooms available?”

The eldest of the Noyamano sisters thought about it for a few moments before inquiring, “And you would all be paying separately for rooms, or together?”

“We’re currently working under a minor bout of socialism, so, together for the moment. I’m so proud that my country has inspired these two so much,” the Canadian remarked cheekily, ignoring Johan’s protests and Alphonse’s giggling.

Rika looked between them with a raised eyebrow, clearly bemused by the statement and the reactions it garnered, but remained professional. “And, do the three of you have jobs?”

“Well, due to having just arrived in the city, we’re currently unemployed, but we planned on seeking employment as soon as we were settled. We’ve had a bit of a…rough landing, as it were, but we don’t intend to let that stop us,” Trent explained, gesturing a bit with his hands to illustrate his point.

While she didn’t look entirely sold on the idea, Rika hummed, “Well, if you guys are able to pay upfront for the first month then I suppose we can host you for at least that long…”

Trent looked to the other two, and asked, “You lads cool with that?”

Johan nodded. “I’m down. Should be able to find  _ something _ in that time, right?”

Alphonse just assented quietly.

Swiveling back to the redhead, the Canadian declared, “Sounds all good to the lads. Shall we discuss the price?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, I’ll put some tea on,” Rika agreed as she stepped back, gesturing for the three to join her inside.

-x-x-x-

After a minor discussion with the head of the house and money changing hands, the lads found themselves with a roof over their heads and settled into the rooms they’d rented, putting away what little they had.

A few hours after that had them reconvening on the street outside the building, bags with ATs in hand as they trekked away from it. The blond among them rolled his shoulders and asked the other two, “So, where are we heading to practice? The school’s out due to the whole issue with Buccha…”

Johan scratched his head. “We could try that park we were in before, maybe? I don’t remember much about this city, truth be told.”

Alphonse thought about it for a moment before coming to an uncomfortable realization. "...Y'know, it just occurred to me that we didn't actually check for any stickers marking the turf of any Stormrider teams while we were there. Might want to check that out and be careful if we find even one."

Johan pointed at him. “You’re absolutely right, Allie. No sense in taking unnecessary risks.”

“You’d think that most would leave public gathering places open, if only for the sake of having open safe spaces for Tool Toul To to gather customers,” Trent commented obliquely, thinking more on the possible repercussions of a group doing that.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to keep an eye out, and see what we can find,” Johan said with a yawn.

"Well, considering that all those dank Witches are giving maintenance and parts to everyone for free, I can see where you're coming from," the Mexican replied while scratching at his cheek. "I don't have a problem practicing in the park if it's no one's territory; it's large, doesn't have that many obstacles or slopes...yeah, probably the best place to practice."

The Canadian chuckled, “Now if only we had helmets, then we’d be set.” He shrugged exaggeratedly, clearly having fun with the idea. “Of course, we couldn’t just wake up with any.”

“Maybe the nice witch ladies will have some?” Johan offered with a shrug. “Anyways, there’s no sense standing around shooting the shit; let’s get going.”

The trio eventually arrived at the park they'd met. In the late afternoon, the place had a completely different ambiance, there wasn't nearly as much people as there was back then, only a couple on the same bench they'd rested at and a few people here and there off in the distance. The streetlamps in the area were all unlit, but given the hour, it wouldn't take long for that to change. Birds were already congregating and flying in circles around the place, ready to retreat for the night. 

"So..." Alphonse glanced at the Aryan specimen they'd been stuck with. "What's the plan, coach?" 

Trent, instead of answering immediately, took a few moments to change into his ATs, with that done, he looked to the Mexican and declared, “We get used to actually moving in these, because that’s the main thing. They need to be like another pair of shoes.”

"I've never used rollerblades in my life, let alone self-propelled ones, so that's going to be a bitch and a half." Crane grimaced as he began to unzip the bag. "Any advice beyond 'don't lose your balance' that you can give us?"

“Yeah, remember that your body’s position over the AT can influence how much speed you gain, as well as the fact that any force you put in is going to come out doubled. Oh, and remember, they’re like skates, so try pushing your feet  _ outward _ when moving,” the Canadian offered as he moved forward slowly, showing how he moved and gaining a bit more speed than he’d intended to, causing him to jerk to a stop. “I need a bit of work, I’ll admit.”

"Great, so the exact opposite of how I walk," Alphonse deadpanned and sighed, looking at his ATs carefully. "Would you, like...mind if I began practicing with the ATs turned off first? I don't want a repeat of earlier today."

Johan nodded. “I think I’d prefer that as well. I don’t have the best balance, and I doubt adding engines comprised of solid, concentrated  _ bullshit _ will help matters.”

“…I mean, I guess? I don’t know how much that’ll actually help when adjusting to ATs, but go for it, I’mma try not to neck myself with these things,” Trent replied, moving back to the other two, taking care to maintain a slow speed.

The duo donned their ATs, shaky-legged and wobbling like newborn deer. Johan stood, then slowly slid forward, maintaining his balance for scant few seconds before he put  _ just _ too much weight on one foot and tumbled to the ground, taking care to shield his head from the concrete. With an irritated huff, the American struggled back to his feet, legs quivering as he tried to maintain his balance. To his frustration, he had precious little luck, his back and front becoming  _ quite _ well acquainted with the ground over the course of the next few minutes.

After putting on his ATs, Alphonse crawled to a light pole like a total baby and hung onto it to get on his feet. Surprisingly he managed it without much difficulty, drawing a quick laugh out of him. Of course, that overconfidence would prove to be lethal, as the second he let go of the cold yet comforting metal, he slipped and fell painfully on his ass. Turning around, he rubbed his behind with a hiss and got up once more, hanging on to the pillar for dear life.

Trent meanwhile, was slowly wheeling around the park, working on controlling the speed he was moving at and keeping steady on his feet. He made a few small, slow loops around the area, moving with deliberate care in order to maintain balance. He wasn’t as bad as the other two, if only because of his own experience with rollerblades, as well as the experience he built up during their trek with Majima.

The lads kept at it, Trent occasionally slipping up and scraping himself a bit, while both Johan and Alphonse had a ball eating pavement and sliding across the ground. Not much time passed, but both because of their efforts and the sun finally coming down, it felt like hours. 

Alphonse was no longer hanging onto the lamp post and managed to stand in perfect balance, but only while completely still. Johan, on the other hand, was  _ mostly _ staying on his feet as he rolled forward on flat concrete, but the moment he hit even the slightest incline he would always overadjust and either fall or have to take a knee.

The three heard a strange sound, turning around to find the source but the three found nothing. The park was now completely devoid of people, and even as the lights turned on, they couldn't find anyone else aside from them. 

Once more, they could hear the same sound, this time louder; it was something similar to a giggle, but there was a certain malice to it, making it far too creepy.

"Oy, I'm not the only one hearing this, right?" Alphonse asked the other two.

“If you’re talking about the menacing giggling, then no you aren’t,” Johan said, scanning the foliage and the shadows. “Whoever’s making that noise sounds about as unhinged as a sliding door.”

“I mean, sounds a bit like a seagull on helium,” the blond opined, speeding up a bit as he did laps around the other two. “Kinda familiar though…”

Crane was thoroughly creeped out by the sound, but now that Trent mentioned it, it was definitely similar to something he'd heard before. He reached out to the light pole for support but instead ended up slipping and falling on the floor for the Nth time that day as the sound repeated itself, cutting itself off as he did.

After a single second of silence, they heard it clearly this time, a hearty mocking laughter. It was full of life and joy that couldn't be found with ease, a boisterous, euphoric cackle that one could only produce while they were having the time of their life.

The trio turned to the direction the guffaw came from and were completely dumbstruck by what transpired in front of their eyes. As if from thin air, a swarm of gold butterflies gathered and swirled in front of them, a dazzling spectacle before them taking their breath away. 

Then, they converged in a single spot before vanishing like gold dust, revealing a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. She wore a large, elaborate brown dress with some wine-colored highlights and gold-trimmed patterns depicting a bird of some sort. The image of grace and dignity it projected was completely shattered by the lady herself doubling over laughing as hard as she could, what little of her hair wasn't held by the ribbon with a rose on the right side of her head, the bun on the back of her head and the braid that circled it, swayed back and forth, side to side as she moved her head wildly, incapable of holding back her amusement.

"Why, I thought I'd found the most pathetic rider only a few days ago! I cannot believe I've been so thoroughly, rigorously, exhaustively,  _ painstakingly  _ proven wrong so soon!" the woman gasped between laughs with tears in her eyes.   

Trent, rather than take offence, looked to the others and immediately threw them under the bus. “Honestly, I don’t think you should be too hard on them, they’re only a few thousand steps behind elementary schoolers.”

“Eat me, maple leaf,” Johan shot back, though his quip was rather undermined by how wobbly his legs were at the moment. The Canadian just laughed and made a vague gesture towards his crotch, telling the American he could choke on that.

The woman's response was simply to cackle even harder than before. Alphonse was too busy being completely floored by the flashy entrance and appearance of the mysterious lady to be insulted by her completely valid mockery.

Taking a moment to enjoy the fact that someone else was helping him dunk on fools, the blond joined his fellow in laughter. After pausing to catch his breath, the canuck asked, “So, what brought you this way, your wickedness? The lot of us being shit at ATs, or some other happy coincidence?”

"It was the latter, as it happens," she answered with mirth. "However, I just couldn't help myself when I laid eyes upon your pitiful struggles. At first, I simply took a cursory glance, but as these two kept failing and failing I just knew I couldn't miss this."

“Well, I tried construction criticism, but they didn’t take being told that they maneuvered like steamrollers very well,” Trent chuckled, waving at the duo in question. “Honestly though, we’re just starting out, can you really say we’re  _ that _ abysmal?”

"Indeed, and perhaps even worse than you can possibly imagine!" the blonde replied with a more restrained laugh. "They're almost like chicks who have been thoroughly deboned and are expected to be anything more than nuggets, and while you're less piteous, you're also not exactly a genius at riding; your form isn't too bad, but it's completely inadequate for ATs."

Johan grunted, then offered halfheartedly, “Well, at least there’s nowhere to go but up, right?”

“Well, then nut up,” the Snow Mexican joked in reply. The American responded in the most mature fashion possible: by sticking out his tongue at Trent and blowing a raspberry at him.

By this point, the actual Mexican's brain was done rebooting, but was still having problems processing what he was seeing. 

"Those butterflies..." Alphonse shook his head, still confused and somewhat unwilling to accept the existence, or rather, the presence of the person in front of him. Knowing the answer but still not quite knowing if he wasn't just imagining things, he asked the question out loud. "Who are you?"

“Kuhahahaahyahyahaha! You ask who I am? I am the most powerful of Witches, the greatest sorceress to grace these lands! The Endless Witch who seeks a Golden future, and ensorcells all in her wake!” The blonde threw her head back as she erupted in raucous laughter, exclaiming for all the world to hear her claims. “I am the master of the seventy two demons of the Ars Goetia, bearer of the contracts with many and all! I am Beatrice, the Golden!”

Johan blinked. “Wow. I think I’ve finally met my match in  _ chunnibyo _ . No, she might actually be  _ stronger _ than me.”

“You can practice later Johan,” Trent murmured at his friend before clapping. “And my, that was quite the declaration, but does that mean you’re any good at riding?”

"Of course!" she drawled in, terrible, shitty Engrish before speaking in Japanese once more. "Perhaps I should provide a  _ demonstration? _ "

"Do it or no balls," Trent said without thinking. Alphonse, standing nearby, choked on the air in his throat as he remembered the difficult situation that was Beatrice’s downstairs mixup.

At that second, her expression turned wild and deranged, her smile turning into one that brought terror into the hearts of all humans.

Was the woman in front of them the family alchemist who granted ten tons of gold to the man known as Kinzo Ushiromiya, or was she the bastard child who was thrown off a cliff and who would later discover said gold and succeed him? Was she the terrible witch who toyed with the lives of humans on the island of Rokkenjima, or was she the lovelorn child who wrote a thousand murder mysteries and set them adrift at sea? Was she truly the Golden Witch, Beatrice, or was she Sayo Yasuda, who took on that identity?

The two who knew of her tale didn't know which one it was, or why she was here...but that night, in a park in another world, the three men were shown Magic.

 


	4. Prologue 4: No, This Isn’t A Recurring Joke; What Are You Talking About?

**Prologue 4: No, This Isn’t A Recurring Joke; What Are You Talking About?**

The many different tricks the eccentric woman performed were a thing of wonder, and the smooth, perfect way in which she moved across the park's light posts, benches, the walls of the public bathroom, and many more surfaces despite that dress of hers only made her skill more apparent.

That was all that could be said of the mundane, normal tricks. Their minds were clearly focused on the ones that were nothing short of impossible. The swarms of butterflies that she emerged from on different locations; the kiseru which she blew thick, heavy clouds of smoke out of; the lightning that she seemingly conjured out of nowhere.

The many different things she did just to blow their minds really drove in just how out of their depth they were. They all knew the sheer bullshit that people could get up to in this world, but by seeing such things in action, the fact finally sunk in.

Trent nodded and declared, “That was pretty hype.”

“Ye,” Johan agreed after picking his jaw up off the ground.

Though they were shocked for the most part, their reactions weren't very pronounced and the witch seemed to  _ pout _ at that. Before she could retort, however, a new sound rang in their ears. Turning to the source, they saw a figure moving through the darkness, away from the light of the lanterns. It didn't take long for it to step into sight as the sounds got louder and they finally made sense of them.

It was a man with completely red hair, not ginger as that would normally imply, but scarlet. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt with a few gold patterns on it and wildly swung his arms to and fro as he tried to keep his balance, screaming loudly about how he was going to fall and hit his face as he sped towards them.

Alphonse felt a certain...kinship and a sense of deja vu as he approached, but as his sympathy and compassion were inversely proportional to the injuries and exhaustion he felt at the moment, he decided to carefully step out of the way instead of helping him.

The Canadian, rather than actually help in any way, moved out the way with his greater AT skill and chuckled to himself. He also felt more than a bit of deja vu at the sight of the young man, but as he considered the state of things, he decided that maybe he was being reminded of something else entirely.

Meanwhile, the American simply looked on in befuddlement as he struggled to stay upright, legs shaking.

Soon enough, with all obstacles out of the way, the redhead unceremoniously impacted against the light pole Alphonse was holding onto only a short while ago. The witch chuckled lightly at the man's groans of pain.

"Now then, how did you find yourself here, Battleeeeeeer?" Beatrice drawled mockingly. "Didn't I tell you to stick to practicing what I already taught you while I went to see what all the fuss was over here?"

The man just replied by whining and clutching his stomach while trying to glare at the woman but failing miserably.

Trent looked down at the poor young man and offered, “If it makes you feel any better, Al here,” the blond gestured at the Mexican, “slammed crotch-first into Johan’s face.” And as he said that he pointed to the final member of their trio.

Alphonse responded by giving the Tim Horton's-loving motherfucker an affectionate smile and flipping the bird. Meanwhile, Johan rolled his eyes and snarked to the Mexican, “Well, I hope it was better for you than it was for me.”

The taco lover looked over at the American and blinked. "Dude, are you seriously...no, wait, you definitely are implying that. Fuckin' degenerate."

Johan smirked. “Guilty as charged.”

The Canadian laughed, glad for their infighting. It meant that he had the most stable position amongst them.

As the man's cries began to subside, the witch spoke up once more. 

"Well then, I haven't heard an answer, Battler. Come on, come on!" she urged him on. "I already know why, but I just want to hear you say it. 'I  _ was _ practicing but I needed you to hold my hand and help me so I didn't fall on my face'. Something like that, riiiiiiiight?"

"You damn crazy-eyed witch," the red-haired man muttered a weaksauce retort. "One of these days I swear I'll get you back for all of this.

"I'll be looking forward to that day," the woman said mockingly. "It's not going to come any sooner unless you keep practicing, so get on your feet and  _ keep practicing _ ."

She put her kiseru to her mouth once again and gave him a cruel smile. "Or perhaps you'd rather keep kneeling on the floor and kiss my feet?" she added after letting out a cloud of smoke. "Ah, yes. You could always choose to do that instead, couldn't you? It would certainly be much better and easier, wouldn't it?"

“Wow, just whipping your fetish out in public, that’s some pretty bold play,” the blond interjected as he watched the witch bully her reluctant student.

"I dunno, Trent. It's a strong move, considering his reaction," the Mexican replied in a tone like that of a wrestling match commentator. " _ How is Battler ever going to come back from this!? _ "

The Canuck thought on that for a moment before remarking, “Given the way she’s acting, I think she’d like it more if he was  _ in _ ropes.”

"Maybe even a collar and a leash!" Alphonse added jokingly. 

Johan palmed his face with a sigh. “I hope you both know what you’re doing, because I’m not trying to get killed by a witch tonight. My path goes to a realm beyond love and hate, not into a ditch because you comedians decided to drag me down with you.”

“Oh please, she won’t kill us, if only because that would make the kid actually hate her. Besides, she’s probably more embarrassed that we’ve nailed her to a wall by her kinks,” Trent refuted, eying the rather annoyed Witch with an amused smile. “The kid too, but he’ll never admit it.”

Johan gave him a glum look that was rather ruined by the smile he was trying (and failing) to hide. “I suppose your confidence is laudable, even if your choice of targets is absolutely dreadful.”   


“My choice in targets is impeccable, as I want to be friends with these two…or, the witch at least. She seems like a riot and a half,” Blackmore replied, offering the pair of reluctant student and crazed trainer a winning smile. “Isn’t this how most people make friends?”

"Yes, by shittalking their fetishes out on the open. Or just shittalking them in general," Alphonse added with a wise nod. "Makes perfect sense to me. This line of logic is one with neither flaw nor any possibility of error!"

The American deadpanned, then shrugged. “Seems legit.”

The redhead looked at the three in a mix of confusion, horror and a little anger. "You guys are making so much sense right now and that's honestly creeping the crap out of me."

“Don’t cry moon pie, you’ll catch up soon enough,” the Canadian offered serenely, skating back and forth a bit.

"You're just making it worse!" the newbie yelled with wide gestures.

“I think that’s the intent, sonny,” Johan remarked, wobbling sideways on his skates, arms out wide to keep his balance.

Trent looked to the American and suggested, “Try pumping your arms, it’ll help keep your balance as you move, as well as keep your body going.”

"On normal skates, perhaps it would work like that,” the witch added with a huff. "One's form when riding AT's is completely different, and for beginners, adding in arm pumps can cause them to wildly lose control if they aren’t prepared. I suppose you all certainly could do with some tutoring if nothing else."

"Wait so shittalking actually worked? Huh. Amazing," Alphonse said while blinking before turning to face her and kneeling down. "Please, oh mighty Witch, teach us how to do all the rad stuff you just did!"

After this declaration, he performed a perfect dogeza. Trent, rather than do as Alphonse did, looked at the blonde and declared, “I’m a damn sight better than these two shitlords, but I’d appreciate the help nevertheless."

“Yeah,  _ not  _ falling and viciously crippling myself on Satan’s Heelies  _ would _ be nice,” Johan remarked. “If you’re willing to teach, I’d be happy to learn.”

Puffing out her chest in pride, the woman laughed victoriously.

"Very well! Let us sign a contract then!" she declared. "A verbal agreement, if nothing else! If you wish for my tutelage, then you must acknowledge my existence as a Witch!"   
  
"It shall be done!" Alphonse declared instantly, drawing a wild smile from the blonde.

Eying his overenthusiastic friend, the Canuck sniped, “How’s the taste of her feet Al?”

"Exquisite!" the Mexican joked.

"Also, you must not 'shittalk me', as it were!" she added.

"No deal," the man also declared instantly.

Johan chuckled, waving a hand airily. “To ask such a thing...you’d as soon ask a swallow not to soar, or an over-enthusiastic samurai not to attempt to cut down said swallow.”

“I’ll freely call you whatever sort of magical girl you wanna be, Witchy Woman, but you better be prepared for a chirping with us around,” Trent remarked, sliding his hands into his pockets as he stood loosely. “Besides, it’s not like you wouldn’t try and mock us, so turnabout is fair play.”

"Hah, take that, Beato!" the redhead mocked while pointing at her like an attorney. "Not everyone is going to fall for your tricks."

The Aryan’s eyes flashed over to him, as he grimly intoned, “Who says you’d get any sort of break, bitch boy?”

"Ah, took the words right out of my mouth. Verbatim, even.” The Mexican's eyes did much the same as he smiled just as wildly as the Witch had only a short while ago. "Think you could escape us, fuck boy?"

“Meanwhile, I’m more interested in learning the way of a Warlock from someone whose power clearly outstrips my own by a fair margin,” Johan commented with a lopsided grin.

"Well, I suppose if you helped me make Battler realize his place, keeping you around wouldn't be a bad thing,” the Witch mused. "Very well! I shall teach you how to Ride! You'd best be prepared for many grueling trials, many tests of skill and determination! Hear now! I am Beatrice, The Golden and The Endless! By this name and these titles granted to me, I solemnly swear I will transform you lot into respectable and powerful Stormriders!"

“I see, well, it’s nice to meet you, I’m “Punished” Trent Blackmore, a man denied his Tim Horton’s,” the Aryan Canadian replied, sketching a quick bow.

"I, Alphonse Crane, He Who Endlessly Craves Tacos, accept this contract!" the Mexican declared solemnly.

Johan pressed an open hand to his face, and let out a cackle, unleashing his shackled chunnibyo for the first time in a great while. “Truly, the prospect of this contract fills me with jubilation! I am Johan, Scribe of the Cosmos, Caretaker of the Garden of Eyes, and He Who Records That Which Should Be Forgotten! This humble Poet of the Great Ones accepts your contract with vigor and glee!”

The Witch chortled as well, looking very pleased with the long, eloquent, eighth-grader-tier response the American gave.

"Wonderful! This is well and truly wonderful!" Beatrice exclaimed in delight. "There is no greater pupil than the one earnest in the pursuit of his goals! I shall mold and teach you to the best of my abilities!"

The serious-slash-pompous mood was quickly shot in the balls as Alphonse spoke up quietly, yet loudly enough to be heard by everyone as he glanced as the redhead while he was struggling to get on his feet once more.

"By the way Battler, I'll need to measure your neck later to get the collar."

At those words, the man fell on his ass—painfully, if the cursing was anything to go by. Meanwhile the Witch turned to face him so quickly it was a surprise she didn't outright snap her own neck, her countenance and that of Battler's morphed into a rictus of utter shock and horror, as though they'd just been forced to watch someone slowly eat a clump of glue with leaves and cat hairs stuck on it.

“Isn’t that Beatrice’s job?” Trent, having suspected that Johan would act as such, merely looked past the declaration and wondered quietly. “I mean, she’s  _ his _ mistress.”

"Are you implying that someone as dignified and respectable as Lady Beatrice must do something as mundane and unbecoming of her as going out to buy something? How presumptuous,” he snarked with a smile before making a thoughtful face. "Though now that I think about it, I am the one who is too presumptuous, assuming that she does not already have a perfect fit or that I could ever hope to acquire one to match her tastes. My sincerest apologies."

“Battler’s her gimp, dude. It’s not our business to buy the collars, the whips, and chains for their play,” the blond asserted, scowling at the Mexican.

"Of course, my mistake," he ceded the Timmy's-lover the point.

Johan pouted, a decidedly disturbing expression on the face of a fully grown man. He’d come up with that off the cuff, and those fucking traitors  _ ignored _ it. Truly, their actions had gone loco on his kokoro and made it brokero.

Meanwhile Battler and Beatrice were looking at the two madlads in perturbation. The first to react, however, was the man, who managed to get on his feet after numerous attempts that got interrupted over and over by the two's comments. He glanced at the Witch with a determined expression. 

"No take-backs!" he said loudly. "Your weird contract thingy is sealed, so no take-backs!"

"My word is unshakable,” she proclaimed with a haunted voice, “and yet I wish it were not so. I may have made a mistake that will cost us both dearly, Battler."

"Probably yes, probably no. I'd say the odds of you enjoying our presence are at an even 50/50 right now," Alphonse added enthusiastically before looking over at the redhead. "Wait, now that I think about it, you're the only one who hasn't introduced himself at this point, yeah? What's your name, kiddo?"

"Well, I don't think the odds are as high as you'd give them credit for, but I might as well just go for it." The man sighed helplessly. "I'm Battler Utsunomiya, twenty-two," he declared before giving the witch the stink eye. "I'm trying to figure out just how the hell this crazy witch does all the things that she does." 

Johan piped up immediately, leaning in conspiratorially (and nearly falling on his face). “Isn’t it obvious?” The redhead looked over at the American in confusion and interest, awaiting his response.

“Maaagic,” Johan warbled with a smug grin, wiggling his fingers in a flamboyant display of jazz hands.

"Bullshit!" Battler rebuked almost angrily. "Listen up! Magic isn't real! She's using some sort of gadget or device to do this."

Johan chuckled, a dark gleam in his eye. “Oh, you sweet summer child. Heed the words of the Bard. ‘ There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Reality is what you make of it, young Battler.”

“I mean, technically, yes, she  _ is _ using a device to achieve what she’s doing with her ATs. That device is her ATs, as with sufficient skill and experience you can reach absurd levels of atmospheric control,” Trent explained, casually debunking some of Beatrice’s mystique. “Although, that also takes a frankly absurd amount of control and skill. My compliments, miss Witch.”

The Witch in question looked very cross at the casual destruction of her mystery, looking like she wanted to chastise him but not managing to get a single word out. Alphonse cringed at Trent's action, knowing full well that doing that wasn't exactly the wisest of ideas.

"So I was right!" Battler declared victoriously. "I can't explain how those gadgets work but even the blondie agrees! That pipe is probably laced with some strange drugs to fool our sight too, I bet!"

"That's not how drugs work." Alphonse said with a raised eyebrow. "I mean, I think. Probably. That aside, I doubt Beatrice is in regular contact with Snoop Dog; she doesn't strike me as the type."

Johan looked over at the Mexican with a snort. “Firstly,  _ Snoop Dog _ ? What is this, the eighties? Second, I’m  _ preeeetty _ sure you’re right about it not being drugs; I’m sure airborne hallucinogens  _ exist _ , but to make numerous people with different brain chemistry hallucinate the  _ same _ stuff? That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“Another matter, carrot top, is that you’re the one who needs miss Beatrice to hold your hands as she walks you down the street, so stop trying to talk smack,” the Canadian advised Battler with just a hint of annoyance.

"Dammit, one second you're helping me push the fact that she's not using magic and the next you're slapping me down?" the redhead replied with a wince. "That's cold, whose side are you on?"

"The third side that's not yours or Beatrice's, the shitpost side," Alphonse pointed out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And to anyone who’d spent an appreciable amount of time interacting with the Aryan, it was.  "Also, maybe that blondie remark was a bit too premature, mate. Try again in a hundred thousand years. Or never. Either or."

“He can try again when he doesn’t need to hide behind Beatrice’s skirts,” Trent declared dispassionately.

Johan looked on with amusement at this byplay between the three, then glanced back at the Witch. She appeared to be struggling to hold back an amused smile, her irritation at Trent warring with amusement at Battler being shat upon no doubt. 

A thought occurred to the American, and he cleared his throat. “So, miss Witch. I just remembered that an... _ energetic _ associate of ours was also interested in learning the ways of the Air; do you think you’d have room in your class for another?” Johan gave an amused smile. “The man’s not lacking for confidence; after all, he called  _ Behemoth  _ a ‘pack of unruly children’.”

Beatrice's expression underwent several changes in the span of a single second, going from mild curiosity, to delight, to horror, to a mix of that, amusement and distress. She was about to reply, when the Mad Dog of Shimano himself strode out of a nearby bathroom, ATs on his feet and a manic gleam in his eye as he cheered, “All righ’, now how d’I use these suckers?”


	5. Prologue 5: Essence of 24-Hour Cinderella Road「Requiem」MAX ACT the Nutpocalypse Over Heaven

**Prologue 5: Essence of 24-Hour Cinderella Road「Requiem」MAX ACT the Nutpocalypse Over Heaven**

The first to react to the sudden appearance of Majima was none other than Battler, who was pointing towards him completely flabbergasted. "When? I didn't—" He glanced back towards the trio, who were all entirely stone-faced. "When did he get there?"

“When he wanted to find us probably. Majima Everywhere System is the fucking strong,” Trent answered, looking entirely too at peace with that fact.

"But how? I didn't see him go—" Battler locked eyes with each of the three in quick succession before Alphonse raised a hand and appeased him.

"Look, don't think too hard about it,” he said with a long suffering sigh. "You can try to demystify Beatrice's magic all you want, we won't stop you. Trying the same with him is where a line has to be drawn for your own safety. Please, if you're gonna trust us on one thing at any point in your life, let it be this."

“Just accept that Majima is going to mystify you, and roll with the punches. It’s the healthiest way to live with his existence in the same universe as yours,” the Canuck advised candidly, watching the Yakuza bound over to them like a natural in his ATs.

“Now, as I said, how the Hell’m I supposed ta use these things?” Goro asked as he looked between the Witch and the other lads.

“Bruh, just rock some of that 24 Hour Cinderella magic,” Trent put forth, rolling about on his own heelies.

The eyepatched man looked down at his own footwear, and then at the Canadian. He then skated about the area, going through some dance moves as he did so. He popped up and too a stop, nodding his head as he declared, “This is some pretty easy shit!”

The witch, for her part, watched the way the cyclops moved with an expression stuck between amusement and horror. "Well, he's certainly miles ahead of all of you," Beatrice noted, still shaken by the appearance of the man and his statement regarding Behemoth. "There is room for improvement, but I think that if left to his own devices, he would do fine as a Storm Rider."

Johan nodded. “Not surprising; the Mad Dog of Shimano possesses the ferocity to back up his title, to say nothing of his skill.”

"He has enough skill to ride on his own, is there a particular reason why you said he was interested in learning?" the woman asked suspiciously.

Trent chuckled nervously, and drifted back away from the Witch as he answered, “He wants to throwdown with Behemoth.”

Her skin paled and all mirth left her in an instant. "Are you people even sane? They may be D rank, but their strength is unmatched; even I wouldn't dare stand in their way."

“It’s fine,” the blond declared, his expression clearly more one of someone who had lost complete control of his life than anything else. “It’s fine.”

Johan chuckled wryly. “Sanity is overrated anyways.”

"This is no laughing matter, you fools," Beatrice practically hissed at them. "What do you even think a Storm Rider is? Behemoth is far, far beyond the average Rider."

“What is a Storm Rider, you ask?” Johan mused aloud. “Are they not the spawn of Icarus, those who burn away their wings in hopes of closing their fingers about the sun?” He closed his eyes. “To be sure, Behemoth is beyond us now; we are no fools. However…” The brunet’s eyes snapped open as he ran a hand through his hair. “That will not always be the case, for we are _motivated_.”

Alphonse couldn't help but put a palm to his face due to the sheer chuuni that his shitlord of a friend radiated.

“To be honest though, Storm Riders are people who push themselves to their limits and tear themselves apart to do sick nasty tricks. As for Behemoth…” Trent trailed off, his shoulders tensed from the thought of actually getting in the Cubes with them. “However, they’re all hyper specialized, which is a way to help deal with them.”

"Putting aside your frankly _suicidal_ overconfidence, do you know the potential ramifications of fighting against Behemoth?" the Witch snapped at them. "Is your objective to take them down? Behemoth is so large you would leave an immense power vacuum. Everyone would jump at the chance to seize their territory, leading to outright _war_."

“Eh, it’s not like Majima doesn’t plan to claim Under-Colosseo and the sewers for himself. Also, there’s the fact that despite being made of a huge number of disparate factions, Behemoth is surprisingly cohesive. I’d not be surprised if the remnants reformed to take over the lost territory,” the Aryan Canadian replied blandly, thinking on the fact that they were going to have to gear up for the Parts War in general.

"I'm so lost right now. What are you people even going on about?" Battler cut into the conversation. "Behemoth? Wars? Under-Colosseo? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Maybe we should slow down a bit, yeah?" the Mexican sighed. "It's not like we'd fight them next Sunday or something."

"I can't in good conscience teach you only so that you may walk to your own deaths." Beatrice added while shaking her head and crossing her arms. "I may have said yes already, but that was before you informed me of all of this."

“I mean, we’re getting into AT, that’s basically like sticking one’s dick into a piranha tank after covering it in cow blood,” Trent grunted as he collapsed into a Slav squat. “We are literally playing with our lives already.”

“Plus, it’s not like we have any intention of dying,” Johan added seriously. “ATs are dangerous, and going up against a group such as Behemoth is even more so. But in the end, Behemoth are but human. They have worked incredibly hard to get where they are, granted, but there should be no reason at all that we can’t reach that level ourselves.” He scratched his head sheepishly. “I’d like to think that we’ve got enough sense between the three of us to know when to fight and when to withdraw and improve ourselves, at least.”

“That all sounds magical, but how’m I supposed to get rid of the brats muckin’ up my boys in the sewers?” the Yakuza interjected acerbically, looking none too impressed with the others.

The Canadian slowly put pressure on the front of his feet, and began rolling forward, becoming a mobile Slav Squat machine as he remarked, “Basically, you’ll need a team of teenagers with attitude…or, you know, sufficiently skilled Storm Riders, in order to challenge Behemoth to a proper Parts War, with their territory on the line.”

“How many’s enough people to fight them, then?” the Cyclops inquired, doing a quick pirouette in order to show off just how quickly he was acclimating to his ATs.

"Five is the minimum number," the Witch replied, unenthused, before glancing at Trent. "You're certainly knowledgeable about the world of ATs for a beginner, how far does that knowledge go?"

“Far enough, I suppose. Google’s a good friend of mine, after all.” Even as he tried to laugh it off, the Canuck was internally scolding himself. He hadn’t meant to get anyone so suspicious of his knowledge yet, but on the other hand, at least Beatrice wasn’t Sora.

Sliding in and out of a split, Goro snorted, “Does it really matter? The kid’s been helpful, an’ he seems ta know what he’s talkin’ about.”

"It's strange, maybe even suspicious to some. But I guess there's no need to overthink it," Beatrice said while shaking her head slightly and sighing. She brought her kiseru back to her mouth and took a deep drag from it.

Letting the smoke away from all of the other people around her, she spoke up again. "I suppose you're all right on your points. Storm Riders do put their lives in the line, but I was rather shocked that you'd be so willing to do so at this point." The witch looked over at the trio. "I'll teach you what I can in spite of my qualms regarding your intent, but do try to be careful. I'd rather not have to visit you in the morgue."

Johan briefly considered quoting the saint of shitposting, Papa Franku himself, but decided that it wasn’t quite the time for jokes about death. Instead, he simply gave Beatrice a nod and replied with a small grin, “We’ll be in your care, then. I look forward to walking the path of the warlock.”

“Well, we do kinda owe Majima for quite something, so I’d be willing to help him out because of that. And while I’ve no desire to die, I’m sure that Majima would be willing to give us time to actually get good at ATs, and that’s _if_ he asks us to help him out,” Trent interjected, doing small circles and loops in his squat. “Besides, acts of mercy, no matter how large or small, are good civilization, so I’ll be sure to lend a hand.”

"Ditto, I don't wanna die. Even if I end up wishing I'd never been born at all at some point," Alphonse said in monotone. "A debt's a debt and I'd rather not have it hanging over my head for the rest of my life."

Johan nodded sagely, “Yes...dying _is_ bad, and debt ain’t great either.”

The Yak looked between the lot of them, a small grin on his face as he spoke up, “Well, ain’t that just sweet! I’ll hafta look for you guys when that time comes, or, better yet, I’ll make sure Blondie here gets you guys up to snuff!”

“…I mean, I won’t complain, but do you have the time to actually do that?” the Canuck politely inquired, making a point to not act like he knew too much.

The cyclopean man just laughed. “It’s fine, my business kinda just runs itself, and if any of the guys tryin’ make off with more than their cut…” Goro’s face twisted into a frightening grimace, “Well, it wouldn’t end well for them, let’s just put it like that.”

Beatrice looked like she was even _less_ enthusiastic than she had been after hearing the rather shady dealings of the man. That along with his tattoos probably gave her a good idea of the specifics.

Realizing that they’d never actually introduced the two, Trent coughed to clear his throat, “Right, forgot to introduce the two of you. Miss Beatrice, this is Goro Majima, our benefactor. Mister Majima, this here is Beatrice, the Golden Witch, and she’s a damn good Storm Rider.”

The cycloptic yakuza looked at the witch in the ballgown and nodded, “Nice to meetcha, Betty.”


	6. Prologue 6: We’re Gonna Need a Montage

**Prologue 6: We’re Gonna Need a Montage**

After Beatrice had shaken off the abject despair brought upon her by being called “Betty”, she began their training in earnest. Johan, Alphonse, and Battler were instructed to get used to standing and moving in their ATs, hanging on to one another and moving around slowly. Trent, as he was already decently proficient at keeping his balance, was to acclimate himself to moving at greater speeds, and to add jumps into his routines.

Finally, the Golden Witch turned to Majima. "As for you..." She paused and considered how to improve the Yakuza's abilities with AT before giving up. "Well, you can fly to your heart's content with no issue. Simply enjoy yourself and ride as you will, get more used to moving around, you are not in dire need of assistance like these four. I'll teach you more once they're able to catch up."

“Ha, makes sense that I’d be in a better spot than these guys,” Goro laughed. “I’ve been around the block a few more times than them – or you, Betty.” With that said, the cyclops moved off to keep practicing, trailing cackles behind him as the boys went to work.

Over the course of many hours, each of the lads managed some measure of improvement; Battler and Alphonse, as inexperienced as they were, actually managed to learn how to stay on their feet and _move_ without falling nearly as frequently as they did before. They also managed to strike up a bit of camaraderie: Battler would scream about how he'd fall, do so and then Alphonse would laugh at him, causing him to lose focus and crash into some object while he wasn't looking, causing Battler to mock him back. The back and forth wasn't nearly as strong as it was between the redhead and Beatrice, and with all the victories being on both sides rather than mostly on one, it was more friendly.

Meanwhile, Johan was doing about as well as Battler and Alphonse, though with much less banter and co-mockery due to practicing by himself. He tried a couple of small jumps (hops, really), not trying to do anything but get used to the feeling of having his feet off of the ground. This went about as well as could be expected. The trouble wasn’t so much jumping as it was landing safely afterward and continuing to skate.

Trent went about picking up speed as he ran around the park, throwing in the occasional jump, with one interesting instance ending with him skating across the roof of the bathrooms and eliciting a startled yelp from within. He had some issues keeping his balance as he picked up speed, but found himself enjoying the run despite the fact that he always felt about an inch away from losing control. The blond also made sure to make time to watch the others try and fail, while offering token advice, if only to keep them from noticing his own failures. Majima certainly laughed at him when he wiped out.

Majima meanwhile, seemed to enjoy defying all expectations, as his ability on the machines skyrocketed and he danced around everyone else. He made them all look like classless chumps as he darted around with hoots and hollers, all while making sure to call Beatrice ‘Betty’.

Beatrice, for her part, ended up nursing a headache, as she was unable to get the yakuza to actually call her by name, and was entirely too infuriated with Battler’s lack of progress in comparison. Her normal whimsical nature was completely blown away by Majima’s utter irreverence.

When the crew decided to split up for the evening, they made plans to meet again, if only so that Majima could continue to laugh at their failures. They set the time to meet as the evening two days from the first encounter, though the trio were all in agreement that they’d probably train in the intervening time as well. They managed to limp back to the Noyamano household and collapse in their rented room, none of them really feeling up to any sort of shenanigans.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The next day found our hapless protagonists out on the town, pounding pavement in hopes of finding employment. They found that not only were there few jobs, but that even fewer of those jobs were open to obvious foreigners, though Trent got more than a few measuring looks based on his features. They didn’t even manage to find jobs at the local Micky Ds knock off, a curious fast food joint by the name of ‘MgRommels’.

They found themselves sitting on a bench near a train station, weird, shitty Japanese beverages of odd flavour in hand as they commiserated over their share failure. 

Trent slugged back a mouthful of his shitty drink, which tasted vaguely of squid, known as Ding Crimson, and grimaced. “I don’t know what’s worse, this shit drink, or the lack of jobs. Then again, the way that one granny leered at me was pretty bad…”

“Sounds promising to me,” Johan quipped, then made a face at the bitter, salty taste of the pale white juice he’d chosen, Sheer Ghahk Attack. “If you become a gigolo, maybe we’ll be able to afford drinks that _don’t_ taste like regret and dissatisfaction.”

"Not sure I'd be all that cool with wringing Trent's hypothetical sugar mamma dry of all her life-savings money, as much as we need it," Alphonse mused as he swirled the contents of the liquid-coolant looking drink on his hands, Neon World, unsure if he even _wanted_ to taste it. He got the feeling that if he did, he might never be the same again. "And even if our...ah, _sponsor_ , is pretty generous, I wouldn't want to _try_ asking him for more money."

“The idea of asking Majima for more money is about as appetizing to me as that drink we didn’t pick up. You know, White Lionheart, the one I turned down because I’m one racial epithet away from getting airdropped an Iron Cross,” Blackmore agreed as he eyed the strangely purple liquid he’d been imbibing. He had thought it was supposed to be red. “As for being a gigolo…you think there’s anywhere hiring hosts?”

Johan shrugged. “Maybe. You’ve certainly got the looks to attract the _gaijin_ hunters, if nothing else.”

"Ok, wait. Is this what we're going for? Are we really lowering ourselves to the point where we'd whore out Trent?" Alphonse asked, looking fairly unimpressed before sighing. "Ok, fine. But I'm not bailing him out if it turns out his partner is intent on awakening him to the power of CBT."

The American shuddered. “Don’t you put that evil upon him, you wretched malamute. CBT is not to be trifled with, even in jest.”

“…Y’all do realize, that if I became a host, I’d be under contract _not_ to do that shit with them?” the blond inquired, looking between his fellows in crime.

"Eh." Alphonse shrugged. "I didn't bother looking much into the business of host clubs."

“I mean, my knowledge is just what I’ve absorbed from media, and especially the Yakoozies. Remember that Kiryu has never fucked,” Trent replied, shaking his head at his friends’ foolishness and lack of motivation.

“Actually, you boys never told me how you kids knew about me and Kiryu,” Majima’s voice suddenly interjected from over their shoulders, the man himself rising from the bushes behind them like a Viet-Cong.

After he managed to return his heart to his chest after that scare, Johan looked at Trent. “You’re probably the best one to explain this, right?”

“Yeah…” Even as he said that, Majima whooped, and dragged the Canadian into the bush with him to have a quiet powwow. The blond did drop his can of Ding Crimson, but he would later go on record as it being ‘No big loss.’

Johan looked at Alphonse, only to find him missing from the bench and currently on the floor, grasping his chest with a shocked expression, his shirt slowly getting stained by the disgusting liquid he’d dropped. Johan shrugged, picked up the two fallen cans, and walked to a nearby trash can to dispose of them, along with his own Sheer Ghack Attack. They’d have to remember to not drink these brands again.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Later that evening, the lads found themselves sitting around the small table in the room they rented, eating shitty cup noodles that only had the brand name NALT. The noodles, which were bland, mostly tasteless and somehow packed to the brim with sodium, were at least better than the sodas they’d had earlier in the day.

As he slurped down the last of his noodles, Trent stuck out his tongue and complained, “I can still taste Ding Crimson, haunting my tongue. It’s somehow jumped past the NALT in order to punch my tastebuds with its shit flavour.”

Johan made a face. “Don’t remind me; I could go for the rest of my life without tasting another drop of Sheer Ghak Attack; that explosive, evil flavor had no weaknesses.”

"I couldn't so much as experience the taste of Neon World, so I can't complain all that much." Alphonse shrugged, contemplatively stirring the last of his noodles around with a spork. "Actually, I'm curious: what _did_ you tell Majima after he took you to his magical realm behind the bush?"

“Just about his ex-wife and the child she aborted without his knowledge,” the blond answered as he leaned back, not enjoying the way that the NALT sat in his stomach. It was like some great ball of self-hatred had nestled itself in his gut. Probably all the sodium. “At least we have jobs now.”

The Mexican had his spork halfway into his mouth when he heard the first part and stopped moving. Putting the utensil back into the cup, he could only say one thing. "Fucking christ, that's rough. I didn't know that."

Johan, on the other hand, set down his own utensil and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I...did not know that tidbit either.” He let out a sigh. “The man’s really lived a full life, hasn’t he?”

“You can say that twice, my good marmite,” Trent agreed with a nod, pulling one of his legs up. “I thought about telling him about the time his eye got popped out, but Papa Shimano was there, along with like, fifteen pipe wielding goons.”

Alphonse sighed and went back to eating his noodles, after the first bite, he spoke up. "Well, you're right, at least we have jobs, though I'm not exactly filled with confidence over the fact that he didn't actually _tell us_ what we'd be doing."

“Al, we were just handed jobs, I don’t think we’ve really much room to complain,” the Canuck replied, a dour grimace on his face. “Hopefully it’s not something like working in a factory, that shit’s the worst.”

“Meanwhile, I just hope he didn’t stick us with something blatantly illegal.” Johan commented, setting down his empty NALT cup. “I know Al’s got practice fighting off the cartels, and you’ve probably wrestled a bear or six, but I’m one of maybe five Americans who has never even _touched_ a gun. If shit goes down, I’m fucked.”

"First, bold of you to assume that I actually have a life that interesting," the Mexican began, pointing his spork at the American with a raised eyebrow. "Second, that's actually what has me concerned. I'm not sure I'd take the right to legitimately call Majima 'Boss' if it means becoming one of his boys, with all that that entails."

“Meanwhile, I’m not quite on the bear-wrestling level, more person-fighting, and even then, that was in high school. It’s been a _damn_ while since I’ve actually fought anyone,” Trent admitted with a grimace. “Hell, if we’re drafted into illegal shit…well, we’ll have practice for when we need to run from the Shinjuku Gators.”

Johan winced. “You make a valid point, even if I hate it. I haven’t _ever_ fought someone outside of sparring in Tae Kwon Do.”

"Fuck, we might have to fight Kaito," Alphonse grimaced, before a realization hit him. " _Fuck._ We might have to fight _Agito_."

“As much as I hate to admit it, and I _really_ hate to admit it…we probably _will_ have to fight Kaito and Agito once we go through with opposing Behemoth.” Johan took off his glasses and massaged his eyes. 

Trent blinked, craned his head up to look at the ceiling, and then curled up into a ball. “Daddy, no…”

-x-x-x-x-x-

The Canuck smiled down at the fancy suit that Majima had jammed into his hands, glad that he hadn’t been conscripted into the Yakuza. Though, he was still worried as to how Johan and Alphonse were going to take their jobs. “Thank you, Majima.”

Johan was much less concerned with the not-so-fancy suit that he’d been given, unlike Trent. No, he was focused on the thirty-centimeter blade that he’d also been given, accompanied by the ominous words “You’ll know what to do when the time comes.” 

As he stared at the razor sharp blade, an overwhelming sense of doom seeped up his limbs and seized his heart.

Meanwhile, the cyclops handed Alphonse something more eye-catching than any suit. A brand new, yet completely unremarkable mop.

The Mexican looked between the yak and the mop, eyes moving up and down repeatedly. After a bit he spoke up.

"You know what? I'm fine with this. I'm perfectly ok with this development."

Majima looked between the three of them, and nodded sharply. “Alright, so, you guys suit up and get ready for your first day on the job! Tommy, you’re on the floor, learning the ropes from Hideo-chan. Jimmy, you’re with Daigo-chan out front. Annie, you’re with Taro-chan!”

Johan, finally breaking his gaze from the deadly weapon he’d been handed, deadpanned, “Just what the _hell_ have we gotten ourselves into?”


	7. Prologue 7: Total Eclipse of the Skull

**Prologue 7: Total Eclipse of the Skull**

When the lads rolled up to give Rika their rent a month later, the wrestler was incredibly glad to find out that they’d all found employment, though all of them were elusive when describing those jobs. Still, they went to work each day, and brought back money to pay the rent and their other expenses, so she wouldn’t complain.

More than that, they’d spent their free time training on their ATs while Majima clowned around and made them look like utter fools, managing wall rides while they were still learning to grind. Still, the boys made improvements, even if Battler spent a good chunk of time bent over a trash can puking into it due to his motion sickness, earning him ribbings from everyone else.

Trent had taken to trying to work his way up to wall rides, more afraid of actually falling due to his own issues. He had finally gotten used to running, jumping and landing in a continued run, but he’d still gone through more than a few bandages from wounds sustained getting to that point. The blond even noticed that his ATs had started to get scratched up, the wear working its way into the parts and leather warming his heart. 

Alphonse was already overtaking Battler by miles. A low bar, but one he leapt past wonderfully. After all that training, he could finally keep his balance and ride without too much worry...that is, if he didn't try any tricks and just rode them like normal roller blades. It was honestly a bit worrying to him; he didn't feel like he was making enough progress and it was somewhat frustrating, considering what their ultimate goal was. He needed to pick up the pace.

Johan, for his part, was similarly frustrated, but tried to keep up his optimism. He too had managed to at least learn how to use the ATs as blades, but beyond that, he was trying to emulate some of Beatrice’s simpler technical techniques. He was largely failing, granted, in part because he wasn’t that skilled, but also in part because of how the Golden Witch tried to instruct him.

Oh, her explanations were clear and concise, but when she would go to demonstrate them, her skirt would invariably obscure the details of what she was doing. Of course, Johan  _ could _ have asked her to lift her skirt slightly...if he was braindead. At best, the woman would have bullied him into a sobbing wreck. But at worst? He’d probably get naenae’d out of existence by her wacky magic.

Battler was…doing better, even if he had to take time to puke his guts out every now and then. He was finally managing full runs around the park, rather than having to pause, or falling flat on his ass like a douche.

The Yakuza amongst them had started training by running around with his tanto out, an act that garnered a comment from Beatrice to the effect of him losing his other eye. He had then decided to pull out a number of knives and start juggling them as he ran, looking her dead in the eye before he broke away from them.

The group had also engaged in a variety of team building exercises, such as sampling the worst soft drinks they could find, or the worst foods. There was something special about watching Majima eat NALT with boiled White Lionheart instead of water that helped bring them together, though he got back at them with surprise shots of the different drinks, with no indication of which was which. Alphonse was forced to choke down a shot of Notorious C.B.T., Johan had to swallow Scranhattan Transfer, while Trent was lucky enough to get Friendly Experience.

They also learned that everyone in the group, outside of Battler, could tell that Beatrice was into him, and summarily agreed to do exactly nothing about the situation. They needed to get together, but they also needed to get their feelings out in the open like normal people, rather than romcom characters. It also had them agree that Beatrice probably knew him outside the show she put on as a disguise and was using the disguise to appeal to him, while Battler, mongrel that he was, remained clueless.

The boys had also started to eat better, graduating from the tasteless but sodium filled NALT to the tasty but not as salt-packed NEJWARITE. Trent had also taken to forcing the other two to drink more water, citing proper hydration as a necessity for both health and motivation. They needed to grow powerful, and this was the only way he truly knew how. Alphonse agreed. It'd be foolishness not to do that.

Trent had decided to try and make inroads with their hosts, occasionally helping Mikan capture Ikki, or distracting the girl so that the crow could escape. He’d also started speaking more with Rika, discussing the state of Japan with her while carefully avoiding any talk of Air Treks and Storm Riders. The blond had also started to learn more about her career as a wrestler, pleasantly surprised to find out that she too enjoyed power bombing people.

Johan was a bit more reticent, not being as open a person as Trent, but he still did his best to maintain a friendly rapport with the residents of the household. He got the feeling that Ikki was a bit irritated at him, and in fairness the brunet  _ might _ have enjoyed watching the crow kid get dunked on repeatedly by Mikan a little more than necessary.

Alphonse, piteous coward that he was, had taken a swan dive into the other end of the spectrum. He wasn't fond of the idea of going full hermit, but he couldn't really interact with their hosts for prolonged periods of time. The  _ incredibly poor  _ first impression he'd made on Mikan didn't help matters, and as much as he wanted to at least apologize and somehow change disdain of him into indifference, he didn't know how to even begin doing that, fearing she'd demean him in some way or throw the apology back into his face. 

All in all, the days passed calmly, the lads progressing their riding skills steadily if not swiftly. Alas, that calm would soon be disrupted, like the still water in a toilet bowl being disturbed by a massive, fetid turd.

-x-x-x-x-x-

“Hey dudes! Damn, if it ain’t great to see some fellow Storm Riders!”

The voice was nasal and somewhat whiny, drawing the trio’s attention. Standing in the center of the park was a young man, maybe a bit younger than Battler. He was clearly caucasian, had his hair shaved close to his skull and he had the biggest shit eating grin on his face. His clothes were grungy and ripped up, but clearly not in the worst shape. His ATs, however, were in frankly  _ excellent _ condition, looking as if he had either just recently got them, or constantly did maintenance on them.

Maybe it was the way he carried himself, maybe it was the way he spoke; Johan didn’t know  _ what _ it was, but something set him ill at ease about this man. Alphonse, for his part, felt a certain sense of recognition upon hearing that annoying voice, though he couldn't quite pin down where from; either way, he had the feeling they were about to get into a very no-fun time. The way the man talked to them immediately made Trent’s hackles rise, due to the fact that he was clearly trying to ingratiate himself to them without even knowing them. Then, there was also the fact that his voice set the blond’s teeth on edge.

The guy rolled forward on his skates, all smiles and smarm as he continued, “And man, I hope you guys don’t mind if I speak English, cause damn if Japanese ain’t hard on my tongue! You guys look like you can speak it anyway. Listen, I’m looking for some Riders to help me out with some stuff I’m setting up, and you guys look like the right sort to help out!”

“You haven’t even told us your name, and you’re asking us to do something for you?” the Canadian asked rhetorically, his eyebrow cocked from where he stood, balanced atop a lamppost, desperately trying to hide the shifting of his feet as he tried to keep his balance.

The new guy laughed, waving off the concern as he replied, “Right, names! I’m Eric, Eric Griffith.”

After giving the man a once-over to make sure he didn’t have any immediately obvious demonic pendants (fuck you, this is Air Gear with  _ Goro Majima _ isekai; everything’s game), Johan nodded stiffly to the man. “Johan Lewis.”

“Trent. Blackmore,” the Canadian ground out, not trusting this Eric with all the slime and smarm that seemed to be dripping off him.

"Alphonse...yeah," the Mexican said with a raised eyebrow, trying his  _ damndest  _ not to react in any other way while Forces started blaring in his head, dread pooling in his stomach.

Eric grinned at the lot of them, showing his teeth as he continued to declare, “Well, listen, Joe, Al, Trent, my new buddies, you’re willing to help a fella out! We’re all English speakin’ guys out here, and we need to stick by each other!”

“I’ll say this quite plainly for you:  _ daga kotowaru _ .” With that single statement, Trent felt his face drop into an expression of bland disdain. “I dunno about my friends, but I don’t trust you for shit.”

"No se, no confío en este guey," Alphonse cheekily added his input entirely in Spanish. "Me rehuso. Ni vergas, te jodes chavo."

Johan merely sighed, and jerked his thumb at his partners in grime as if to say, ‘What they said.’

“Wha— C’mon guys! I need some real big help, and you guys can be the ones to lend me that hand!” Eric complained to them, even if he hadn’t understood exactly what Alphonse had said. “Just help a brother out!”

"Huevos. No voy a pagar por el muro, tu arreglatelas," Alphonse continued.

“Listen, Al, you aren’t helping your argument against the border wall, but I really need help, even if I don’t speak Mexican,” the annoyance continued, his voice growing higher in pitch as he did so.

The Canuck fell into a squat atop his lamppost, his unhappy gaze boring into Eric as he declared, “We said no. Find someone else, dude.”

"Ok, I'm not even offended by that comment, it's golden." Alphonse chuckled loudly, then stopped the laughter dead cold. "But yeah, no. Your sudden proposal doesn't exactly inspire confidence."

Johan nodded, then added, “Not least because it scarcely counts as a ‘proposal’ at all. You’re looking for ‘some help with some stuff’? That’s honestly the most sketchy, vague-sounding thing I’ve heard in weeks, and I work as a bouncer for some rather... _ colorful _ people.” Well, colorful  _ person _ , really, but this Eric clown didn’t need to know all the details.

“Aw c’mon! I’m beggin’ ya!” He was practically screeching now, his face flushing in anger at their dismissal.

“Bruh,” Trent said, his disgust plain on his face. “Either leave us alone, or we’re gonna yeet ourselves right outta here.”

“Consider me already yote, fam,” Johan quipped.

"I'm too busy being Mexican and menacingly eating tacos in preparation for stealing someone's job to actually do...something you literally didn't actually tell us anything about, actually." Alphonse shook his head. "I refuse."

“Well screw you guys! I’m gonna go find some way better Riders than you, and you’re gonna be sorry!” Eric cried before stomping away from the guys, his face blotchy with rage.

Johan rubbed his shoulder awkwardly as the man stormed away, then sighed. “Well,  _ that  _ wasn’t awkward in the slightest.”

Alphonse sighed loudly and shook his head. "The sadistic part of me is  _ delighted _ to see a grown man run away crying like he's going to tell us on his mommy, but I just  _ know  _ this will come back to bite us in the ass in some way."

“You say that, but I know a bitch when I smell one, and god if that boy didn’t smell like a bitch,” came the Canadian’s response. “If that boy comes back, he’ll probably screech at us pathetically then too.”

"Eh...I guess I'll trust you." The Mexican shrugged before glancing at Trent. "That aside...was I the only one who thought he was...familiar? I feel like I've heard that annoying-ass voice before. Kind of hard not to forget something  _ that  _ grating."

“Eh, I get what you mean, but then again, I’ve worked with a lot of pissy kids over the years, so tantrums are all just kinda the same, you know?” Trent replied as he hopped off his perch and did a grind down the pole.

Johan tilted his hand from side to side. “Ehhhh...my nieces can be little shits, but they’re not  _ nearly _ the dime-store bitch that Skittles there was.”

"You know, I love how we're actually  _ polite  _ enough not to sling shit on that bitchboi to his face, and the second he's gone, we go right ahead," Alphonse mused while deciding to get back to training. "Also, what did you mean by that, Johan?"

“Oh, by the Skittles comment? I meant that he made me think of a shitty knockoff of Eminem.”

The Canuck skated on closer to the others as he remarked, “And it would have been rude to go hard  _ right _ then, we barely knew him. If he shows up again, then I’m going to tell him how much a bitch he is to his dumb fucking face.”

Johan nodded. “That’s fair enough.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

When the lads finished training for the evening and were on their way back to the Noyamano’s, they were interrupted by a very familiar and unwelcome voice.

“Well, if it ain’t my new friends! How’re ya doing bitches?!” Eric crowed at them from atop a fence, attempting to look big despite the minor elevation.

Trent looked to the other two and then looked back up at the annoyance. “Would be better if we didn’t have to deal with your stank penis existence.”

"Can we  _ not _ , you child?" Alphonse looked at the idiot, completely unimpressed by his posturing.

Johan, meanwhile, just sighed and glanced around the empty street. It didn’t seem like Eric had brought anyone with him, but...maybe it was just because he was tired, but the American was on-edge.

“Oh, oh, you’re gonna insult me? I’m not the bitch ass punks who’re too big of cowards to help a guy out!” The nasally voiced American squawked at them gesticulating as he did so.

"Motherfucker, you  _ did not  _ even tell us what you even wanted.” The Mexican palmed his face in annoyance. "Like hell we'd agree to something as vague as 'helping a brother out' just because you came up to our face and pestered us."

“Well, it’s fine. It’s  _ fine _ !” Eric repeated as an ugly grin spread across his face. “Cause I found some even better friends than you guys turned out to be!”

With that, a veritable squad of men in long coats descended around them, proving both Alphonse and Johan correct. Unhappy with the odds, the blond looked to Johan and asked, “Do you still have the knife Majima gave you?”

Johan was already reaching into his coat, but before he could do much, one of the guys knocked him to the ground, pinning his arms behind him before he could do more than grunt in pain.

Alphonse took a step back, glancing at Trent angrily. "I just want you to know that I fucking called it on it biting us on the ass and that I hate both you and me for it  _ oh so much! _ " 

If the Mexican he had anything else to add, he did not get to say it before he found a knee embedded on his stomach, making him double over in pain and drop down to the floor, the wind knocked right out of him. He tried to raise his head to get a good look at Eric's posse, only to get an Air Trek slammed on the side of his face and pinning him to the floor, the wheels grinding painfully against his skin.

Trent was about to run and help his friends when he caught a punch in the jaw, sending him careening to the side and into another one of the hoodlums. He struggled and kicked against the other guy as he was grappled from behind, his elbows trying to slam into the ribs of the guy holding him. For his struggles, he earned a kick to the stomach and another punch to the face as his attackers chortled.

Johan, who was still on the ground, had to deal with the fact that his attackers were using the fact that they were standing up to stomp on him and keep him from drawing his knife. They even seemed to cackling about how it was like kicking around a ball on the school yard. Alphonse, for his part, got to enjoy a hard kick to the ribs that knocked him around, and left him grasping his side.

As they were being beat like redheaded step-children, the lads were helpless before Eric’s gang of guffawing goons, even as Eric himself cackling at the hurt that was being done to them.

All of a sudden, though, the beating stopped as an unsettling wave of tingling energy washed over everyone present. Footsteps could be heard, slowly approaching the site of the ambush. 

A deep, rich,  _ familiar _ voice echoed from the shadows. “This will not do, this will not do at all! To cut off the string of Fate so soon… Inconceivable!” 

A figure approached from the shadows and stepped into the light, revealing a slimman in a white suit. 

Long tresses of cerulean hair swayed in a nonexistent breeze, while a shock of pure white (probably dyed) hair hung down to the man’s forehead. Purple eyes swept the street and found the inhabitants wanting.

The man tapped his foot against the ground. He was clad in clearly custom white Air Trecks, trimmed with gold and blue accents.

“I, Saiyou Takuma, will not stand by and allow you to sever their ties of Fate before they have a chance to fly!’”

Electricity crackled around Saiyou’s feet, and suddenly, there were ten of him. As one, the eleven men threw their right arms forward, and cried in unison, “Behold, the Cassandra Road’s First Prophecy: [Wand of MAGICIAN]!”

Trent looked in stunned amazement at the man who had stepped in, and murmured, “His voice is like velvet thunder…” He then blinked at the man’s theatrics. “What a fuckin nerd.”

Even knocked down and barely aware of what was going on, Alphonse couldn't help but agree with the first part with a pained groan.

For his part, Johan was so in awe of this man’s power level, he almost forgot about the bruises on his everything. He also felt a bit nostalgic; the man seemed incredibly familiar to him.

In the next instant, all of the clones exploded into motion, each one darting towards a different thug while the original leapt onto the fence Eric was perched on like some shit-pidgeon.

“Despair, and carve your fates into your own souls!” the man barked, one foot arcing towards Eric. Even as he assailed the bitchboy, his clones crashed into the group’s assailants almost as one. As they did, they dissipated back into lightning, which engulfed each of the punks. They each convulsed for a few long moments, and then fell to the ground, smoking slightly.

Eric, seeing just what was happening to his backup, turned tail and bolted, leaving his beat squad to get bruised in his place. His moves were actually decent, if somewhat flawed in their execution, but it was marred by his cowardice.

Saiyou looked between the fleeing fool and the injured group, then made the only decision he could: he hopped down from the fence and glided over to the fallen trio. “Are you three badly injured?” he asked, his voice gentler and all the more auditorily pleasing for it.

Johan offered a weak groan, and sat up with a wince, rubbing his midsection. “I…think I’ll live.”

“Man, just whisper sweet nothings in my ear and I think I’ll be fine for the rest of my life,” Trent wheezed at their saviour as he tried to stand tall despite what felt like a rapidly forming bruise on his stomach.

Alphonse just spat out curses in Spanish and groans, but gave a weak thumbs up.

Saiyou blinked bemusedly at Trent’s comment, then smiled softly at the realization that they all seemed to be, if not in the best shape, at least not horribly injured.

“Good, good. It would be a tragedy to see such fascinating Fates as yours be snuffed out prematurely, fledgling Riders.”

“Man, if our Fates are fascinating, it must be the Chinese curse variant.”

At that moment, Johan finally managed to push through the pain and recognize just  _ who _ the man was. 

In another life, Saiyou Takuma—known to some by the name Sartorius—would’ve been taken by a corrupt cosmic energy known as the Light of Destruction. Obsessed with the very Fate that aided him at every turn and utterly devoted to the cause of purifying everything and everyone that the Light opposed, he would unleash a campaign of subtle and insidious brainwashing onto the unsuspecting students of Duel Academia.

One day, though, he would be opposed by the host of another sort of power, one diametrically opposed to the Light of Destruction. Cast down by the Supreme King of the Gentle Darkness, Saiyou would regain his senses, and work to aid the forces of good.

But this world was not that world, and this Saiyou was not that Saiyou.

...Hopefully.


End file.
